We Three Victors of District 12
by ClintonBush43Obama
Summary: This is an AU I came up with. What if our three heroes all participated in and won the Hunger Games? And what if the first Victor from District 12 (before Haymitch) was there to help them along? For this story, I have resurrected Duke Vedaldi from the book universe I maintain. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1: 72nd Reaping

**Chapter 1: 72nd Reaping**

I stand stock-still, facing the mirror as Mother puts the finishing touches on the single, simple braid running down my back. After a moment, she steps back to review her handiwork, take it in alongside the faded blue dress that once belonged to her when she was a Merchant. The frock is still a little big on me, but I'm only 14; I trust I can grow into it.

"Now you look beautiful, too," Mother says softly, though there is no smile, or even the light of one in her eyes. Just a flat affect.

"I wish I looked like you," my 10-year-old sister Prim remarks from the settee off to one side.

"Oh no," I take a seat next to her. "I wish I looked like you, Little Duck." And I mean it. Primrose inherited our mother's blonde hair, blue eyes and fair complexion. She could pass for a Merchant's child. I, on the other hand, am mostly my father and his Seam features. I tuck in the back of Prim's blouse tenderly. She might be my sister, but the way that I am with her, she feels practically like my child. And I suppose I should take some credit for that. I was the one who raised her, after our mother emotionally withdrew following Daddy's death in a mining accident. "Come on. Let's go." I say it bravely, because I am sure there are a hundred places I would rather be, one hundred other events that I would rather be going to. For today is the Reaping for the 72nd Annual Hunger Games. Mandatory attendance. To see whether your life continues as is, or if that life as you know it is over.

A few generations ago, the twelve Districts of Panem rose up against the leaders in the Capitol. The rebels were put down brutally, and as everlasting punishment, a charter was drafted establishing the Hunger Games. It is a competition in which all the districts put forward one girl and one boy of teenage years (really between the ages of 12 and 18) to be sent into an outdoor arena for a fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins, becoming a Victor to mentor future tributes into perpetuity.

Mother, Prim and I arrive in the Square in front of our district's Justice Building. It's the most imposing structure in all of District 12 - an easy assessment, since the rest of my homeland's buildings are either covered with soot from the mines or are close to falling down. I register with the Peacekeepers, consisting of a simple pinprick of blood, and make to stand with the other 14-year-old girls. Thank heavens Prim is still too young, still has this year and next of safety, as I watch her and Mother go to find places off to the side.

At precisely high noon, the ceremony begins. I use that description very lightly. Baby showers are ceremonies. Festivals are ceremonies. And though I have already vowed to never take a husband myself when I come of age, weddings are ceremonies. Even birthdays are ceremonies in their own little way. Because ceremonies are meant to be festive.

Nothing about picking two children for death is festive. At all.

Up on the platform, Mayor Undersee takes the microphone. He begins by reciting a spiel regarding the Dark Days that led to the Games. I tune this part out, for it is nothing more than a recitation. If quizzed on it, even I could regurgitate the whole speech by heart. So I spend this time scanning into the 16-year-old boys' crowd. At last, I catch his eye, looking tall and imposing even amongst his peers. My best friend and hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne.

We met not long after our fathers were killed in the same mining accident. With two starving families to feed between us, we began working together to hunt and forage for sustenance. It's an arrangement that has been going on three years. Gale finally catches my eye, and gives me a reassuring nod.

I hear the Mayor shifting to the next part of the proceedings: the reading of Past Hunger Games Victors for our district. In the last 71 years, we have had exactly two. That's right, two. Thankfully, both are still alive, as I turn my focus to the two men with seats of honor on the platform.

"The Victor of the 13th Hunger Games: Duke Vedaldi!" We all politely clap as Duke, a grandpa in his mid-70s, half-rises from his seat and gives us all some kind of vertical salute in acknowledgement. He's not actually a grandpa - in fact, I don't think he has any family - and he has a salt-and-pepper ruggedness about him that is still attractive. Elderly, yes, but not yet infirm. Give it another ten years or so. Then, he'll be considered old, at least by District 12 standards.

"The Victor of the 50th Annual Hunger Games, or Second Quarter Quell: Haymitch Abernathy!" It doesn't surprise me when most of my neighbors burst out laughing at the mere mention of his supposedly exalted name. And maybe they have every reason to, as his reputation precedes him. This is proven right when Haymitch, a paunchy, middle-aged drunk, rises staggeringly from his seat and looks as though he wants to give the Mayor a hug.

Duke springs from his seat with remarkable agility for someone at... 75, I think, as he grabs Haymitch and literally wrestles him back into his seat, not unlike how Mother sometimes had to wrestle Prim into her high chair.

The Mayor looks relieved at the nice save by Duke, and even more relieved as he cedes the floor to Effie Trinket, our escort from the Capitol. Her fashion sensibilities get more outlandish each year, and her Capitol dialect is grating on the ears.

"Welcome, welcome!" she chirps. "Today, we have the privilege of selecting one young man and woman for the honor of representing District 12 in the 72nd Annual Hunger Games. As always, ladies first!"

I don't have time to prepare myself, don't have time to shut my eyes and pray as Effie whisks a slip of paper out of the Girls' Reaping Bowl.

"Katniss Everdeen!"

Oh. My. God.

I wipe the shock off my face the way miners wipe soot off their brows - quickly and forcefully. Keeping my expression neutral, I slowly take the stage.

"Wonderful!" Effie chirps again. "And now for the boys!" She selects my district partner with the same speed and sting, the way one quickly rips off a Band-Aid.

"Reuben Cartoly!"

A boy from the 18-year-olds emerges from the crowd. I can tell right away from his looks that he is a Merchant. Has two or three inches on Gale. Yet, he looks as gaunt as a drowned rat. He must be one of the poorer Merchants, to be not as well fed despite his favorable looks. There isn't a middle class in Twelve between Merchant and Seam, but if there was, Reuben Cartoly would be in it. He's a Merchant, but barely.

Effie makes us shake hands before we are escorted by the Peacekeepers into the Justice Building.

* * *

I am locked in an ornate, private room. Lovely curtains hang from the single window, accompanying a cushioned seat with matching coloring. I sit down and stare out the window stoically and silently, waiting. At last, the door opens and I hear a Peacekeeper say, "You have five minutes." I turn to see my mother and Prim. My little sister tearfully throws herself into my arms.

"Just try to win, if you can!" she blubbers. Then, she hands me a small pendant. I recognize it as the mockingjay pin I gave her for her birthday this year. "To protect you." I kiss her forehead.

My final goodbye with my mother is not nearly as tender. All I tell her is that now it is her responsibility to look after Prim. She nods mutely, but I still feel moved to give her a hug. I've been cold to her, and for good reason, but I would never be cruel. A Peacekeeper comes to collect them, and the door closes with damning finality.

For a moment, there is quiet. I wonder if anyone else has come to visit me. I tentatively approach the door, and can just make out voices on the other side. As I reach out my hand to try the doorknob, it suddenly turns of seemingly its own accord, and then opens.

I jump, startled, and shrink back, staring as Gale appears. Of course. He would not leave me. I fling myself into his arms.

"Are you OK?" he asks, and I am surprised to hear the choking in his voice. Gale is someone who rarely gets emotional, if ever.

"I'm all right," I assure him, though I really think this statement is meant to calm myself. "I'm fine." We draw away so that he can look me in the face.

"Listen to me: you're stronger than they are. You are. You know how to hunt. Get to a bow. And if they don't have one for you, then you make one."

I blink widely, trying to process all he is telling me. "What about... my mentors?"

"Haymitch is useless; he might as well not even be there. But they say old Duke is at least sane," Gale tells me assertively. "Do whatever the old man tells you."

We spend the rest of the time going over what are probably my last wishes. Gale will continue to feed both his family and mine, doubling his snares and efforts. All too soon, the Peacekeepers are there to take him away. I pull him in for one last hug.

"Take care of them, Gale, and whatever you do, don't let them starve!"

"I'll see you soon, OK?" he tells me confidently, just before the door slams in my face.

Not long after, I am escorted from my comfy prison to meet up with Reuben, Effie, Duke and Haymitch. Duke just nods in my direction. Haymitch, meanwhile, is swaying and slurring. I want to roll my eyes - it's not like he would register it, anyway - but refrain from doing so. How could someone who's only pushing 40 look so pathetic?

"Bartender! Another!" Haymitch barks to the air, towards some non-existent concierge of fine wine.

Duke gives the rest of us an apologetic smile, as the Peacekeepers finally wave us on towards the media, and the train. The old man now loops an arm through Haymitch's to keep him upright. But also likely to make him haul ass. "Come on, Haymitch, time to see the doctor..."

"Oh, hello, Doctor. How are you?" Haymitch engages a nearby reporter, who merely replies by snapping a camera bulb flash in his face.

Duke gives a really forced laugh, followed by a gritty and extremely fake smile, as he redirects Haymitch to the train car. "No, no, no, not _that_ one..."

Effie mercifully pulls the door to as soon as we are all onboard. In the next moment, we are pulling away from District 12. Possibly forever.

* * *

There is, it turns out, a Capitol physician on hand in the train. For the District 12 entourage, his job is to make sure that Haymitch doesn't drink beyond the life-supporting limit. Apparently, the mission of keeping old Abernathy under the legal limit had been given up long ago.

Dinner that night is a quiet affair. I eat more than I have in two lifetimes, ignoring Effie Trinket's obvious discomfort at my lack of manners. At last, Reuben takes it upon himself to break the silent ice.

"So:" and he leans his elbows on the table. "What's your best advice?"

"Here's some advice: stay alive!" Haymitch practically bellows. Then he cracks up, pausing only to take a long swig from what must already be his fifth bottle today. Duke gives his partner a heavy side-eye before turning back to Reuben with his best smile.

"You'll have to excuse Haymitch. That's just our motto."

Reuben frowns. "What's a motto?"

"Nothing, what's the 'motto' with you? Ah-ha-ha-ha!" Haymitch cackles a little too loudly and a little too long.

Reuben glances from one man to the other, a mixture of disbelief and anger gathering on his face like storm clouds. Finally, he stands up abruptly and leaves the dining car without another word. I don't exactly blame him. Between a half-crazed alcoholic and an old guy who seems powerless to curb the former's behavior, I can see why Reuben would be unimpressed with our District's Victors. Although to be fair, he's not exactly impressive himself, if he doesn't know what a motto is. I thought Merchant kids were supposed to be well-educated.

Besides, Duke may be old, but he's not hopeless, like Haymitch. Yet, I recall my mother telling me that there was a time when our first Victor was a drug addict. Mother says she has memories as a little girl of Duke coming into her family's apothecary shop for over-the-counter substances. He apparently quit the habit once he produced a Victor in Haymitch. Probably to focus all his energies on protecting his so-far only successful apprentice.

By now, Haymitch is passed out in his chair, even snoring. I pause in my musings as I notice Duke staring out and over me, no doubt at the wilderness flashing by the train windows.

"Look around you," he breathes, and my ears detect something that - between the cacophonies of the Reaping, getting on the train and Haymitch's antics - I hadn't noticed before. There's an accent to his voice; a brogue, really, whose origins I can't quite place. I think back to my Other World Cultures class I had in school. Is it... Irish? Scottish? One of the two. I think of his age and realize: he would have been a small toddler when the Rebellion happened. Did his family or ancestors move from one of those past, distant places, to whatever country existed here before the dictatorial Panem? "It's teeming life. Flowers and trees and frogs. It's all part of the wheel. Always changing, always growing - like you, Katniss; your life is never the same." He finally focuses his Seam-gray eyes on me, staring at me earnestly. "You were once a child. Now you are about to become a woman. Who knows? Very soon, you might... go out, just like the flame of a candle. You'll make way for new life. That's a certainty, the natural order of things. And then..." He gestures to the sleeping alcoholic beside him. "there's _us_. What Haymitch and I have, you can't call it living. We just... _are_ ; we're like... rocks, stuck on the side of a stream."

He leans forward, his voice now barely above a whisper. "Listen to me. Katniss, you're entering a dangerous competition. The minute that gong goes off, they'll be trampling all over each other to get to those weapons. If there's one thing I've learned about tributes after mentoring them for 60 years, it's that many will do anything - _anything_ \- not to die. And yet, at the same time, they'll do anything to keep from living their life. Or even know why it should be maintained. Do you really want to try and win without knowing what it is your fighting for?" He cocks his head to one side, regarding me quizzically. "I've just got to make you understand."

The intensity of his gaze, and the words that he's saying, makes me uncomfortable. "I don't want to die. Is that wrong?"

"No," and Duke's smile is soft, gentle, almost grandfatherly. "No tribute does. No _human_ does. But... it's part of the wheel. You can't have living... without dying. Don't be afraid of death, Katniss. Be afraid of the un-lived life. You don't have to live forever as a Victor. You just have to live as you are, with the time that is given to you. At the same time, know what it is you're fighting for. Why your live deserves to be preserved. You never feel more alive than when you are fighting to stay that way."

I think I understand what he is telling me. Duke is preparing me for the probability of my imminent death, while simultaneously encouraging me to win. But with that winning comes a warning. And that warning is not to lose myself along the way. Stay true to who I am. And even if I do succeed in becoming a Victor, it will be a hard life.

* * *

When we finally arrive in the Capitol, the media is on us in an instant.

The night's rest during and following Duke's speech to me in the dining car must have done wonders for Haymitch, for he is remarkably more sober. Either that, or Duke told him to get it together, for the old drunk does an annoyingly good job of keeping me under his gaze. At least, he shields me from the cameras - a welcome service, as I have never liked attention anyway. Huh. Maybe old Abernathy isn't as useless as Gale had me presume.

Our first appointment is to meet with our stylists. I like mine, Cinna, right away. He seems to adhere to the simpler things in life, despite the omnipresent temptation to be big and bold and loud, from fashion to eating. Reuben's stylist, Portia, seems sweet and motherly. Our mentors and Effie leave us to be beautified for the rest of that day, in preparation for the Tributes' Parade in the City Circle that evening.

When I rejoin my crew at the horse stables around dusk, I have been outfitted in a tight black jumpsuit. Reuben matches me. Cinna then hands us little buttons that resemble those pressed on television quiz shows. We are to activate them when we feel ready.

Reuben and I climb into the chariots once we hear the roar of the crowd from the first horses pulling away. The one advantage of being from District 12 is that we at least have plenty of time to compose ourselves. For someone as anti-social as me, this is a godsend.

Once the District 12 horses have cleared the stables, Reuben and I press the buttons. All at once, I feel a strange sensation heat my body, my core. It reminds me, rather scandalously, of the warm feeling one apparently experiences in their core during sexual relations - a topic we painfully had to study in school. Yet this fire is one that warms me from the outside.

That's when I realize: it _is_ fire. Our clothes are on fire. And yet, neither Reuben nor I burn up. And whatever is happening must have an amazing effect on the audience. By the time, we reach the City Circle, the Capitol citizens are calling our names, particularly mine.

"KATNISS! KATNISS! KATNISS!"

President Snow takes a high podium and makes a welcoming speech. He looks even more slippery and sinister than he does on TV. After that, we are turned loose to our entourage. Our mentors, stylists and Effie escort us into the Tribute Training Center, where we will be staying on - appropriately - Floor 12. The penthouse.

* * *

Training begins the very next day, on the Center's ground floor. Thanks to Effie's timely (or untimely, depending on one's vantage point) "Big, big, big day!" alarm, Reuben and I are some of the first tributes there after breakfast. Atala, the Head Trainer, announces the rules and then we are free to explore. I recall Duke's advice to us at our morning meal: _Learn something you don't know. And never show off your talents to the other tributes._

So I ignore the archery station, as well as the edible plants station, heading instead for anything involving blades. I lose myself in the training, not bothering to check on what Reuben is doing. In fact, I hardly register that any of my competition is even there. Only a brief lunch break is called for, and then we keep going before our entourages call us up to dinner.

This goes on for the next three days. On the final afternoon, we enter one by one to show our private talents to the Gamemakers. I go second-to-last, ahead of Reuben, as is tradition. I show the Gamemakers my shooting skills and knowledge of plants before I am released.

That very same night, Caesar Flickerman, the Capitol's resident TV host, broadcasts out scores. For each one, Duke sits with a legal pad in hand, taking copious notes after every pronouncement. With a pair of reading glasses pushed down to the bridge of his nose, he even _looks_ like a lawyer. I don't pay nearly as much attention, at least until Caesar calls my name.

"And for the lovely Katniss Everdeen, we have a score of..." He pauses, then checks the pad again, as if there must be some mistake. "11."

11!

Effie squeals, and even Haymitch cackles, sloshing his beer bottle around in his hand. Duke looks over the rim of his spectacles at me with a smile. Reuben doesn't say anything; in fact, he doesn't have time to, for Caesar is now announcing his score of 8 - a respectable one, especially for our District. Cinna ends the night by pouring champagne and toasting us, their tributes.

* * *

The fourth and final day is spent preparing for our interviews with Caesar Flickerman that evening. I am dismayed to discover that Haymitch has been assigned as my interview coach. From the little I've learned about him, I know that he and I are of the same surly, sarcastic, sour temperament. I begin to wonder if Duke has made a mistake. Does he really think Haymitch and I are not going to kill each other when left alone in a room together? Perhaps the older man doesn't care - compared to me, his mentoring of Reuben should be a breeze.

After hours of going through possible interview questions, I conclude that, actually, the session could have been a lot worse. But it could have been a lot better, also. Haymitch didn't make it easy on me, his tough-love-bordering-on-cruel approach forcing me to think faster, communicate more eloquently - the latter feat of which is like pulling teeth for me. At one point, he literally threw his notepad to the floor, and growled, "I give up, sweetheart. Just go up there, and act like you have a pulse."

The evening finally comes. As always, I am second-to-last, so I have plenty of time to observe. If I didn't necessarily learn anything from Haymitch, maybe I can learn something from watching the other tributes.

I pick up several tips from the first few, initially. Every tribute seems to be going for some kind of angle. But after a time, each interview starts to run together. I cannot even believe it when the buzzer rings yet again, and I feel Reuben nudging at me to stand up and start walking forward.

I shake Caesar's hand in a fog - such a big one, in fact, that I completely miss the first question. "What?" I blurt out, with the stupidity of a sloth.

Thankfully, Caesar is more than accommodating. "Uh oh, I think someone's a little nervous," he chortles. "I asked: what do you like the most about the Capitol?"

I remember how much Haymitch drilled me to think fast on my feet, so I spew whatever comes into my head first: "The lamb stew."

"Ohhhhhh, the one with the dried plums?" I nod. "Oh, I eat it by the bucketful." Caesar exaggerates holding his stomach in pain. "It doesn't show, does it?"

"No, no!" the audience cries and there is a brief pause in the proceedings as they clap and cheer. It gives me time to find Duke and Haymitch in the crowd. Duke is laughing and smiling at me encouragingly; Haymitch looks non-plussed. Hell, _I'm_ non-plussed. Lamb stew? Really?

"Now: this dress," Caesar says to me. "It won't burn up like Cinna's other creations, will it?"

Oh, I can capitalize on this. I smile. "As a matter of fact, Caesar, it can." I face the audience. "Would you like to see?"

There are excited whoops and cheers, as I stand and proceed to spin about, per what Cinna had advised me to when he dressed me earlier in the evening. As I spin, flames suddenly appear at the hem of my red dress, lapping up it but doing nothing to singe or burn the fabric. I finally have to sit down due to dizziness, rambling out an apology, but it's OK. Caesar looks positively delighted.

After we've caught our breath from the excitement, Caesar turns serious. "I have one more question for you. It's about your family. What did you say to them when you saw them after the Reaping?"

For a minute, I begin to panic. How does he know they visited me? How would he know I even have a family at all? Are there cameras in those Justice Building rooms? Is our privacy that compromised? And even if it isn't, I don't feel in the mood to share my most precious of secrets with these Capitol elites. However, the fact remains: I have a part to play. So I play it.

"I told my sister, Prim - she's ten and I love her more than anything - that I would try to win. That I would try to win for her." As I finish my answer, I look to Duke. His brow is furrowed, but he seems pleased. And I know he's thinking of our conversation in the dining car: _Know what it is you're fighting for..._

"And try you will." Caesar kisses my hand, the buzzer sounds and he dismisses me, calling me Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire.

* * *

The night is still as I return to bed from getting a glass of water. While passing through the penthouse suite on the way back to my room, I encounter Haymitch, a glass of spirits in his hand.

"You ready for tomorrow?" he asks without any preamble. He doesn't need to elaborate; tomorrow is when I will be entering the arena.

"I... I think so," and I am surprised and concerned over how nervous I sound.

Haymitch takes in my reply with a nod, thinking. Finally, he announces out of the blue: "You can win, Sweetheart." And then he resumes knocking back his bottle and watching the TV.

I practically run back to my room, my head spinning. Despite my enduring annoyance at Haymitch's insistence on calling me 'Sweetheart,' his declaration nonetheless shocks me. I never thought he had that much faith in me. I didn't even think he liked me. Can I really win?

I haven't come to a conclusive answer even after I fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2: Where the Bats Roam

**Chapter 2: Where the Bats Roam**

Effie Trinket's "Big, big, big day!" call is an awful alarm. The only thing that makes it worse is that I have never had the pleasure of waking to an alarm yet.

After waking, showering and dressing, I eat a healthy breakfast. I savor each bite, knowing this very well may be my last meal. All the same, I keep a close eye on the clock, so that I still am on time to meet Duke, Haymitch, Effie and Reuben on the roof of the Training Center just before 9:30 AM.

"Any last advice?" Reuben asks our mentors.

"Stay alive," Haymitch replies grimly, and I am surprised when he ruffles my hair. It's almost an affectionate gesture - a mind-blowing thing indeed, coming from him.

Reuben takes this comment about as seriously as he did the first day on the train. He rolls his eyes, nods curtly to Duke and then boards the hovercraft. Duke now kneels so that he is at eye-level with me.

"Katniss, when you're in the arena... I want you to feel the life pulsing through you. Feel, don't think. Trust your instincts. If you can get a bow... go for it. If not, I want you to run. Find freshwater. The rest will fall into place." And he gives me a hug.

I board the hovercraft. Forced into a seat next to Reuben, I allow the tracker to be placed into my arm. Wouldn't want to lose a tribute. I don't know much about the device, only that it sends an electronic signal to the Gamemakers, letting them know where each tribute is in the arena holographically.

The flight to the arena is not long at all. Before I know it, I am being hustled underground along with my 23 fellow tributes. Guided through the tunnels, watching my competition stored into individual rooms, I feel like cattle being rounded up for the slaughter. At last, I am escorted into my own private room. Inside, Cinna waits for me.

Along with the launch pod that will take me into the arena.

Cinna dresses me in my arena garb. The jacket is of a heavier substance than I am used to - the texture of the fabric feels almost like that of a windbreaker. "Expect an environment that is cool often. Or at the very least has cold nights," Cinna advises me.

Once all dressed, Cinna pins a tiny ornament onto the inside of my jacket. I realize that it is my sister's pin. I look up at my stylist, wide-eyed, but he merely puts a finger to his lips and shakes his head.

"Thank you," I whisper, choking up. I don't know how he got it back from the Capitol security, but I am grateful. Most district tokens are confiscated, to make sure they are not weapons that could give a tribute an unfair advantage. Not that Prim's pin could do anything deadly. It does something much more valuable - it reminds me of what I am supposed to be fighting for.

"I'm not allowed to bet, as a stylist. But if I could, I'd bet on you," Cinna tells me with sincerity. He pecks me on the cheek goodbye, and then I hear the automated voice on the intercom give the warning of 10 seconds to launch. Taking a deep breath, I make my feet move forward until I enter the pod. As soon as I am inside, glass seals around me.

There is sudden silence, save for the rapid pounding of my own heart, and I whirl back to Cinna, allowing fear to invade my eyes for the first time. He only nods once. And then, the pod is being pushed up, up, up, towards above ground...

Or maybe not. For when my pedestal emerges into the arena, all I see is brown earth and dim light and caverns... A strange mixture of terror and comfort collides within me all at once. It can't be... am I in a mine? Is that the arena?

No. But I'm not far off the mark. The arena is set in a series of underground caves and caverns. The Cornucopia is set on a plane of rock ever so slightly elevated from the rest of the ground. Stalactites hang from the ceilings, a few of them even touching the top of the great metal horn. Stalagmites rise up from the ground, interspersed amongst the scattering of backpacks and supplies strewn out from the horn's mouth. Chancing a glance back, I can see an underground pool behind me. And ringing the walls are various tunnels leading to surely other caverns.

The minute until the gong goes off is nearly up, but I still have time to scan for what I desperately need more than anything else. Please... let there be a bow...

And there is one. It's not far from my pedestal, maybe three yards ahead, kiddy-corned to a stalagmite. A backpack rests against the weapon. I crouch as the final countdown begins, my eyes honed in on my best chance for survival.

The gong goes off, its sound still reverberating in the air as I am already off my pedestal, springing towards the bow. Within seconds, I traverse the several feet to it, snatch both it and the backpack up, and reverse course. The other tributes are rapidly congealing from the circle of pedestals, so I waste no time running away.

However, the girl who was on the pedestal immediately to my left now twists into my path and knocks me down. She's the girl from 5, I think. Quickly, I send a knee into her chin, and I hear a crack. I wonder if I broke a bone. She falls away to the side, giving me time to leap to my feet and continue at a sprint away from the Bloodbath.

Supplies in hand, I bravely cross the pond. The water is bitterly cold against my thighs, so I half run, half bound out of it. On the other shore, I find a thin crevice just big enough for a person my size to squeeze through, albeit if I shimmy along on my side. The cavern walls go like this for several feet before opening up into another "room."

Only now do I pause to rest. There are so many of these tunnels and caverns, it must be like a labyrinth. It could take a good while for any other tribute to come across me here. Sitting down on the rocky ground, I open my pack.

I am heartened to find heat pads immediately inside, and I apply these to my still chilly legs. I did not overstay my welcome in that pond, but I nevertheless refuse to take any chances. In this environment, hypothermia is a very real possibility.

I also find a thick sheet of plastic. Maybe I could use it as a blanket, or even make a further coat out of it. Finally, there is a pack of corned beef, a flashlight, and an empty canteen.

I stay in this cavern room for the rest of the day. Being underground, there's no way for me to follow the path of the sun, as I am so used to doing in the woods. With no watch or other way to keep time, I can do nothing but wait.

It must be several hours by the time the cannons start. And there are plenty of them. When they finally cease, I count 13 deaths. Roughly half gone in the Bloodbath is pretty standard for most Games; rarely have I ever seen the first day death toll go higher than that. Several more hours pass until the faces of the dead tributes are projected into the sky - or, should I say, along the cavern walls.

The boy from 3. Then both from 5. (That means that all of the Career tributes are alive). Both from 6. The boy from 7. Both from 8. Then, it skips to both from 10. Both from 11. Reuben. That's it.

After the projection switches off, I have time to think. The survival of Districts 1, 2 and 4 is no surprise. They are tributes who illegally train for the Games until age 18, then volunteer for the event. They win the thing almost every year. I don't know if my tussle with the girl from 5 ultimately caused her death, but it could have at least played a factor. The loss of the boy from 7 is quite a surprise; they usually are a strong district that has produced many Victors. Why, the girl who won just last year was from 7. Johanna Mason pretended to be a sniveling weakling until only a handful of competition was left. Then she turned on the rest. Finally, there's Reuben. I would have thought he could have made it out. True, he was not well built, but he seemed good with weapons enough. Then again, he did not give much effort into gleaning tips from Duke or Haymitch. Perhaps the Careers got him.

Stretching out the sheet of plastic over me, I curl up into the fetal position, and let myself fall into the first careful sleep in the arena.


	3. Chapter 3: Close Quarters

**Chapter 3: Close Quarters**

Being in a cave, I have no idea what time it is when I wake. But, given that I am still on a reliable body clock from before the arena, I assume it must be sometime in the morning.

I decide to break camp and go exploring. Scanning the cavern room I am in, I finally spy a tunnel just a few feet off the ground. I have to actually haul myself up to get inside the space. Like the shimmy-path I used to reach this "room" yesterday, the tunnel is just big enough for me to crawl through. I go along by propelling myself on my elbows and making good work of my legs.

Only my flashlight pierces the darkness ahead of me. For a long time, it only illuminates rock, rock and more rock. Then, suddenly -

There is a reflection, sending the light back into my eyes. I squint through the brightness to see that it is... a blade...

Oh no.

Followed by the face of the girl from 7. The blade is the blade of an axe!

The girl blinks in surprise when she sees me. With so many caverns and corridors, I think she did not expect to encounter anyone else just as much as I didn't. But a tribute's a tribute, and for someone from a bloodthirsty district like District 7, that's a bonus.

She lunges for me. Well, more like flops towards me, swinging the axe. I can only shuffle back, and it's just enough for the blade only misses me. She swings again, and this time I manage to grab the handle. We grapple for the axe for a moment. In these tight confines, there is nowhere to run and barely any room to fight. But I maneuver where and how I can, until finally...

The axe yields to a master. And it's me. Wasting no time, I slice the blade across the girl's cheek. She cries out and tries to reverse back up the tunnel, but she can't move quick enough. I tear the axe through her one arm. She howls and blood spurts everywhere. I hack off the other arm. Now a sitting duck, she doesn't even resist when I decapitate her.

The light from my flashlight seems to have dimmed, which seems impossible; it's only been on for a short time. Then, I realize the girl's blood has stained it. Wiping the lens clean, I re-affix it to my hand. Now with a new weapon, I continue my crawl, bravely pushing through the blood and severed limbs of my fallen opponent.

After another undetermined period of time, I emerge onto a plateau. It seems to be the top of a cliff, really. Nevertheless, I continue to crawl along the rock face despite my new and very welcome wider range of motion.

Peering over the edge, I can see a waterfall feeding into a pool far below. At its edge, sit two tributes. I recognize them immediately as the ones from District 9. The girl is taking a drink from the water, while the boy is sharpening a long blade.

All at once, there is a flurry of movement, as the boy attacks his ally.

"Hey, what are you... AHHHH!"

I turn my face away from the awful sight, hearing only her scream as the boy kills her. When I glance back, the boy is standing over a bloody form.

Thinking quickly, I string my bow. Lining up a shot, I fire an arrow right through the boy's neck before he has even had time to recover from his own assault. Turning on allies in the arena occurs with painful regularity, but even the most bloodthirsty Capitol citizens generally frown upon betrayals of district partners.

The boy drops to the ground, and two cannons sound in rapid succession. BOOM. BOOM. Funny. I didn't even hear the one for the girl from 7 that I killed. Maybe because I was in that tight tunnel...

I sit back on the cliff, totally exhausted. Just then, another sound pierces my ears, and I watch as a parachute floats down towards me. A gift from a sponsor! Opening the clasp, I find a pile of bread. Retrieving my beef, I make a nice lunch/dinner of beef sandwiches. As I eat, I muse.

We are already down to the Final Eight. The Careers, District 3 girl and me. No doubt all of the Careers will come hunting for me, if they haven't started to already. I did beat them all with my Training Score - a point that likely maddens them to no end. The only question is, how can I beat them all here in the arena? Even if I went on a surprise attack, I could probably shoot down no more than two of them before the rest assault me. That would leave me still against four tributes who are all a lot bigger than me. Though Duke says size doesn't matter...

Wait... _Ewwwww_... let me rephrase that. Size of the tributes doesn't matter. Not even in the arena. Even so: how can I outlast all six Careers? And there's still the girl from District 3 to worry about...

I go to bed that second night unresolved.


	4. Chapter 4: Rig the Damn Thing

**Chapter 4: Rig the Damn Thing**

I wake up the next morning - or, rather, what I judge to be the next morning - still thinking about the Careers. Since I am so preoccupied, I resolve to take the fight to this monstrous band. I will bring them down or die in the attempt.

So, I leave my cliff hideout, crawl back down the narrow tunnel while avoiding the bones of the girl from 7 and return to the "room" where I spent my first night. I shimmy along the skinny passage until I return to the main cavern.

My footsteps are now silent, cautious. Wrapping the heat pads around my legs, they shield my skin from the cold pool as I wade into it and crouch so that I am hidden by the rocky shores.

Up ahead, I can see the majestic metal of the Cornucopia. And camped all around it are the entire six Careers. The way that these brutes win almost every year is by taking over the landmark at the Bloodbath and stockpiling any supplies not seized by the few remaining tributes. Here they stay, with a monopoly on nourishment and a perfect camp until the competition is down to them and they viciously turn on each other.

But this year, these elite half a dozen are not alone. They are joined by the girl from District 3. My heart sinks. With my help in clearing the rest of the non-Career field, I know who will be hunted next. Me. Indeed, my blood chills when I hear the leader, the monstrous boy from 1, bellow:

"That scrawny girl from 12 is mine! How did she beat us in Training?"

"What are we waiting for? Let's go hunting her!" his allies encourage.

The boy from 1 sharpens his sword, nodding eagerly and with a wicked smile. He points to the District 3 girl. "You: stay here and guard the camp."

Then the six Careers take off down one tunnel opposite of where I hide in the pool.

Seemingly all alone, the girl from 3 suddenly begins to dig around the tribute pedestals, removing metal and wiring and tinkering with both.

I stifle a gasp as I realize what she's doing. She is crafting a bomb or other explosive device from the land mines under the pedestals! I have to admire her resourcefulness. She must know that if the Careers come back triumphant, or she hears a cannon, her death will be next.

I smile, watching and waiting. But, just to be safe, I exit the pool and slip back into the narrow crevice.

Many hours later, the Careers return, angry and upset for having not found me. By now, the girl from 3 has crafted her bomb and covered up her work around the pedestals. The Careers approach her.

"The camp is all safe? Any sign of Twelve?"

The girl gives a smile that clearly conveys victory to all but the Careers. "No. But I found something else!"

And she detonates the bomb.

KABLAM! The fiery blast rocks the cavern. I hear screams and cries as many die. This is followed by - I can hardly believe my luck! - six cannons. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Just then, a rumble shakes the caves. Is it an earthquake? No. The explosion is causing a cave-in! Rocks rain from the ceiling. Stalactites shatter against the stony ground.

Even so, I run for my life. I burst out of the narrow passage and, ignoring my warmth and health, dive into the pool. I swim down, down, down, dodging the rocky slabs that plunge into the water around me. At last, I discover an underwater tunnel and swim into it. Through the darkness, it begins to curve upward until I blast out, gasping, into an air pocket. I climb onto an outcropping and huddle for warmth, listening to the roar of the avalanche of stone. Finally, it halts. Only a single sound follows.

The sound of a cannon. BOOM.

The girl from 3 bravely took out the whole Career pack, but lost her own life in the process. In the cave-in, most likely. And here I benefitted.

All at once, a claw that normally collects tributes' bodies pops out of the water and seizes me. I am dragged back into the underwater tunnel, dragged back to the pool, now half-covered in rock. I do not even hear Claudius Templesmith announce me, Katniss Everdeen, as Victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, before I pass into unconsciousness.


	5. Chapter 5: Master Protects Apprentice

**Chapter 5: Master Protects Apprentice**

Upon being extracted from the arena, doctors check me over for cuts and bruises. My only injuries are really minor ones from my claustrophobic tussle with the girl from 7. Then, I am released from the hospital.

The first people I meet are Duke and Haymitch. Despite my normally stoic and strong demeanor, I cannot help but leap into the old man's arms. He hugs me tight, and I feel the moisture of his tears on my arena garb.

"Good girl... Atta girl..."

Haymitch pats my head.

Once my stylists have made me beautiful again, it is time for my final interview with Caesar Flickerman. I am made to watch a condensed 3 hour marathon of my Games. I see my kneeing of the girl from 5 (which, it turns out, broke her collarbone and killed her), my dismemberment of the girl from 7, shooting of the boy from 9, and finally, my escape from the blowing up of the Careers.

President Snow ends the night by placing the Victory Crown on my head. Drawing back, he spies my sister's pendant clipped to my dress.

"What a lovely pin."

"Thank you; it's from my district," I say flatly.

The President nods to Duke and Haymitch as they come up to me. "Mr. Vedaldi. Mr. Abernathy."

Effie corrals us all onto the train, and just like that, we are on our way home to District 12.

* * *

Even miles from the station, I can see the cluster of people.

Merchant and Seam alike have come from all over, cramming the platform and scaling the surrounding rooftops to get a glimpse of District 12's first Victor in over two decades.

Once the steam engine pulls in, Effie exits the train first. No one in the crowd really gives her acknowledgement, which I feel bad about. She may be from the Capitol, but Effie is useful in her own way. Cheers go up when Duke and Haymitch exit the train. Duke characteristically takes on a humble response, merely waving and smiling. Even when sober, Haymitch is the more exuberant of the duo, laughing loudly and pointing into the crowd, giving fans shout-outs. After a bit, I join my group, to rousing, deafening cheers.

For a moment, I wonder if I will be crushed by the crowd seeking to shake my hand, touch me. Or blinded by the media's cameras. But someone is now at my side. Haymitch, who shields me and drives the paparazzi and fans back.

"Make room for the girl! Let her see her family!"

The crowd obeys, clearing a path for me to run into my mother and sister's arms.

"Katniss... my precious girl..." Mother sobs, holding me close. Haymitch ambles up behind the emotional reunion. Mother draws away to look at him and Duke. "Thank you both!"

Duke nods with a crinkly smile. Prim now approaches the group, carrying a package.

"Um... Mr. Abernathy... Haymitch?"

Haymitch jumps at being addressed like this and stares at my sister as though he's never seen anyone quite like her. Prim holds the package aloft.

"We bought you a bottle of liquor. To thank you."

Haymitch takes it, surprised and touched. It is as though he's never received a present before. "Thank you," he says quietly.

Prim now turns to my other mentor. "We would have gotten something for you, Duke, but we weren't sure what you would like."

Duke laughs. "That's all right, Primrose. I think an advanced payment of years at your grandfather's apothecary shop is payment enough."

"You knew my grandfather?" My sister's eyes are shining.

Duke kneels before her. "Sure did, little lady! Why, I remember when your mother was younger than you! Just a little girl!"

And for the first time in a long while, I see my mother smile. Duke's eyes find mine. Holding his gaze, I silently communicate that I am well aware of his drug addicted past, and will keep his secret.

All the same, the smile from my mother makes me smile now too. "Shall we go home?"

My mother blinks. "You mean... to Victors' Village? With you?"

"Of course!" I see Duke and Haymitch look at each other, likely thinking the same thing: _Noisy neighbors_. Neither have had any family in the Village, as far as I'm aware. They have only ever had each other.

As our entourage begins the trek to the Village, I find myself looking at Haymitch ahead of me, keeping me directly behind him and shielding me from the reporters. His protectiveness makes me think of other uncharacteristic moments from him: his telling me I could win the night before the Games. His ruffling of my hair. And back at the train station... I look to Duke next to me, matching my stride.

"Duke?"

"Yes, Katniss?"

"Why is Haymitch being so... protective of me? I didn't think he cared."

Duke smiles down at me knowingly. "He is protective of you because you are his first Victor. Just as I am protective of him because he was mine. Victor to Victor, there is a master-apprentice relationship. Parent and child, even. You feel a deep connection for the first tribute to win for your District after you."

I ponder this. "Well, then... who protected you? When you won?"

Duke takes a long time before answering. Then, a wistful grin, full of memories long gone, crosses his face. "His name was Proteus. Proteus Inhofe. He was escort to District 12 for fifty years; he retired just after Haymitch won. He's... no longer alive. He was the one who got me through the Games."

I feel much better, knowing our very first Victor had someone to watch over for him for the more than three and a half decades he was alone in his mentoring. Arriving in Victors' Village, my family and I move into our new home. The photographers get a few shots in past Haymitch, then leave us alone. Duke and Haymitch enter their houses next-door, flanking either side of us, and we wave to them.

We'll see plenty of both tomorrow, on my first day as a true Victor. The first day of the rest of my life.


	6. Chapter 6: 73rd Reaping

**Chapter 6: 73rd Reaping**

The months pass. With each one, I become more accustomed to - and identify more with - life in the Village. Life as a Victor.

I learn quickly that there are actually three classes of people within District 12: Merchant and Seam, of course, but also Victor. Duke, Haymitch and I are essentially the ruling elite of the poorest district in Panem. Only Mayor Undersee and the Peacekeepers, with their Capitol funding, are greater. But there's not much to even that, though. Being Victors, the law enforcement personnel can do almost nothing to touch us if we step out of line. Attacking, much less prosecuting, Capitol celebrities such as ourselves could lead to protests from the people. Or worse, uprisings. So it is that Duke, Haymitch and I pretty much have the run of the District. Some of us take this to full advantage. I hunt beyond the fence with impunity now, bringing in larger and more audacious game. Haymitch enjoys bootlegged liquor from the Hob's black market in relative comfort. Having lost his taste for hard drugs and other illegal dealings long ago, Duke focuses on more virtuous and law-abiding pursuits, regularly displaying his talents as a skilled carpenter and woodworker. Why, just before Christmas, the old man gifts us Everdeens with creations he whittled himself: a new bow for me (the make is fancier than anything my father crafted, so I only use it for emergencies, like when I have to fell a big buck or something), a goat figurine for Prim, and medicinal catch-alls so my mother can store her Healing supplies.

There's the other thing. Being the relatives of a Victor, Prim and Mother ride on my coat tails. Even if she already has a monopoly on the Healing business in this district, Mother's reputation only grows. Some of her patients come to her just to get a glimpse of me as well as pick up their needed herbs. Prim, meanwhile, turns quite a profit from the few animals we raised while still poor in the Seam, particularly on milk from her goat, Lady.

Just after the first of the year comes my Victory Tour. Haymitch readily agrees to help me through it. The lengths to which he's willing to go to protect me still unnerve me somewhat. At least I can rope Duke into it, get him to go along for the ride. But the older man begs off. He's confident that, with some nudging from Effie, Haymitch is more than capable of bringing me to all the districts, the Capitol and back in one piece. "I promise that we'll all go together next summer for the Games," he tells me. "You're going to need both us guys to help you learn the ropes."

I still feel sad to leave him, though. Even if it's just for two weeks.

* * *

Before I know it, the heat and suffocation of summer has arrived. And with it, the Reaping - from a whole new vantage point.

The only thing that would make my first Hunger Games as a mentor more unbearable is if Prim were eligible to be Reaped. But she still has a year to go. This is small comfort, though: now that I'm a Victor, the chances of Prim being Reaped for the sake of ratings via family drama have skyrocketed. Haymitch says that Victor's children or siblings are popular for the Games. Gives it a little extra spice. Revolting.

The morning of the 73rd Reaping, I am dressed in my standard blue dress that I wore as a mere prospective tribute just a year ago. Now that we're rich, Mother offered to purchase material for me and take up a new dress herself, but I refused. I like my old dress because it is simple. No frills. It reflects me. And if it were up to me, I wouldn't wear dresses at all. But at least one is tolerable.

Mother and Prim are with me at the breakfast table, eating. The Reaping's not for another hour, so we have the affordability to take our time.

Or so I think. There is a sudden knock on the door. And there's only one way, one sound, that indicates a Peacekeeper. "Ms. Everdeen! Are you up?"

Mother, Prim and I look at each other. I run to the door, calling, "Yes! I am!" Upon opening it, I find white armored guards on our stoop, guns drawn. They more or less force me out onto the porch, surround me; some half heartedly use their weapons to keep Mother and Prim at bay. Looking to both my right and my left, I witness similar contingents trained on both Duke and Haymitch. Duke must see the fear in my eyes, for he gives me his grandfatherly smile and nods as if to say, _It's gonna be OK_.

The Peacekeepers corall us three Victors into the center of the Village. There's a bit of confusion as our trio is shuffled into order of seniority, or if you prefer, Victory: Duke, then Haymitch, then me. The guards then take up military positions on all sides of us.

Cray, our Head Peacekeeper, now reloads his gun, clicking the barrel in and out of place: "All right, Victors: forward... march!" We fall into a quick and locked goosestep, high-strutting three deep. As we exit the Village and proceed down the hill towards the Seam, I call up to my alcoholic mentor, "Haymitch... why are we doing this? Uh... pass it on?"

I can sense Haymitch smirk as he relays up to Duke, "Sweetheart wants to know why the fuck we're doing this."

Rather than play a juvenile game of Telephone, Duke just raises his voice, tossing it over his shoulder in answering, "We have to get to the Reaping early and take our places on the podium. Remember how everyone used to see Haymitch and I first when they arrived? We meet with the Mayor and receive our places of honor. Ceremonial, you know?"

"Ceremonial is right," I scoff. "I feel like we're being sent to a military tribunal. Or a firing squad."

"Don't think of it as that," Duke advises. "Think of it as an early morning constitution. A walk."

I scowl at his choice of words. "This is supposed to make me feel better?"

"No," the men chorus.

We're reaching the edge of the Merchant sector now. All of the houses we have passed so far have been bolted shut; their windows drawn. Most of the families with Reaping-aged children are still getting ready. We mount the podium and each shake Mayor Undersee's hand in turn; he reserves a special smile for me. Then, we are shown to our seats of honor.

After about half an hour, the first people of the district begin trickling in. By high noon, the whole square is full.

As always, the Mayor goes first, reciting the Dark Days speech. Haymitch chooses this moment to throw back his head and take a nap; I elbow him hard as Undersee nears the PHGV portion of the proceedings:

"The Victor of the 13th Hunger Games... Duke Vedaldi! The Victor of the 50th Hunger Games... Haymitch Abernathy! The Victor of the 72nd Hunger Games... Katniss Everdeen!" The reaction evolves from polite clapping for Duke to full-on cheers for me. I shyly hide my face in my skirt, blushing.

Effie takes the stage eagerly, her spiel beginning with even more exuberance than last year. I guess she must feel special or at least heartened now that her assigned district has produced a new Victor.

"Welcome... Welcome! Today, we have the honor of selecting one young man and woman to represent District 12 in the 73rd Annual Hunger Games. As usual... ladies first!"

Effie swoops down on the Girls' Ball, selecting a name with a flourish. With the novelty of being seated almost directly behind her, I can just make out the faint print of a name before...

"Quinn Zardon!" A Seam girl who looks to be 17 mounts the stage with trepidation. Her eyes lock on mine for a moment. Behind them is hope, but also a cry for help. The hope that she can come back the way I did: as in, not in a box.

"Wonderful! And now for the boys!" A silence and then:

"Peeta Mellark!"

Peeta Mellark!

 _Oh no_ , I think. _Not him_. Peeta Mellark was a classmate of mine in school. But we weren't friends. We only interacted once, and it was years ago.

And here he comes now, from the 15-year-old boys section. Ashy blonde hair. Short, stocky build. Handsome face. He was a wrestler; I know that much. He, too, has his gaze trained on me. But unlike Quinn, there is something more intense behind his eyes... eyes as blue as a summer sky.

Effie now makes Quinn and Peeta shake hands, and from where he stands, the latter still has a clear view of me. And he is still staring at me.

I don't know if I can do this mentoring thing. I just don't know...

* * *

As a general rule, mentors aren't allowed to visit their tributes in the Justice Building. It's just as well - I'm surprised to realize that I would be too tempted to visit them.

Unlike last year, however, Effie offers to bring the tributes to the train herself. So Duke, Haymitch and I board the dining car ahead of the Peacekeepers and the media. We sit in silence until we hear the snapping of the cameras outside, hear the door of the train car pulled to. The train begins chugging almost immediately, and Effie soon follows with Quinn and Peeta. They take their places at the table and join us Victors in eating.

The silence spreads for a time after that. I notice that Haymitch is staying unusually sober; I wonder if it's because my Victory has given him a reason to care again. Or maybe Duke has pressured him into putting more investment into himself. If Duke can quit drugs, Haymitch sure as hell can quit the drink.

At last, Peeta leans across the table, an keen student. "So... what do we do first?"

"Whoa... so eager..." Haymitch chuckles, holding up a hand. And then, he turns to Quinn, even though she didn't ask a question. "Do anything special, kid?"

Quinn bites her lip nervously. "I... uh... can use knifes good. From tanning hides." That's where I recognize her: she's the daughter of the tanner.

Duke leans back in his chair, stroking the stubble on his chin. "Good... good..."

"Those are fine skills," I offer up. "Just do everything we say, and you'll be fine. Pay close attention to me, Quinn: I'll be mentoring you."

I notice Duke and Haymitch both giving me funny looks. I squirm in my seat. "Mentors teach by gender, right?"

"So they do, Katniss," Duke affirms slowly. He must not be used to the new gender dynamic that will now be employed hereafter.

Haymitch now finally acknowledges Peeta. "And what about you, boy?"

I find myself speaking without thinking:

"Peeta's strong. He can lift a full sack of flour right over his head. I've seen it."

Dead stillness. Peeta is ogling me, mouth dropped open. Haymitch suddenly sends me a glare.

"Shouldn't you be focusing on _your_ tribute, sweetheart?" The annoyance is dripping from his voice.

I blink, taken aback, barked into silence. I've said too much anyhow.

* * *

The media is even more relentless than they were last year when we arrived.

It's likely because with my win, District 12 has achieved a new relevance, become a new curiosity. But it's also likely because of our new tributes' unique beauty. The paparazzi is particularly enamored with Peeta's solid physicality; he shyly accepts their attention with a smile and wave. Although I am sure I can get some sponsors interested in Quinn's slim figure and facial features.

Upon depositing our tributes with their stylists, Duke leads the way to the horse stables where the tributes will converge for the parade tonight. I follow obediently, my eyebrows raised in interest. Finally. The chance to see something new, behind the scenes.

Entering the pen where the District 12 horses are kept, we find it completely empty. Duke presses a hand into the back wall of the stall, revealing what turns out to be a hidden door. It even has a flip-up sign, which now reveals three names accompanied by a label underneath: _D. Vedaldi, H. Abernathy, K. Everdeen - District 12 Mentors-at-Work_. Duke pushes the door forward - there's no knob - and leads us in. I enter, staring and taking it all in.

There are two desks directly facing each other, smushed against opposite walls. Each is equipped with a telephone and a laptop computer and chairs. A lone stool sits in the center of the room between them.

All this in a space that's barely 6 feet by 6 feet. Duke examines the stool, frowning.

"Weird... I was sure I sent ahead for another desk... I'm sorry, Katniss. You'll just have to use this stool for now. But don't worry; you can mooch off of my desk space." He sets the stool next to the left desk. He must see that I am not reassured, for he explains. "This is only until after the parade is over. Then we'll officially move into the Training Center and set up shop in the penthouse. Remember last year?"

The phone on his desk suddenly rings. "Vedaldi," Duke answers shortly. "Oh, Cassius, hello!... That's right; that's right!" he laughs. "Well, our little one is right here; Haymitch and I are just so proud!"

Haymitch snorts, while Duke holds the receiver out to me. "Sponsor. Wants to speak to you."

I take it nervously. "Hello?"

"Katniss! Baby! How are you enjoying life in the fast lane?"

* * *

The rest of the day is spent like this in that tiny little broom cupboard, fielding calls from potential sponsors. Most of them, like Cassius, just want to speak to me, the newest Victor. But there are some who put forward initial inquiries into Quinn and Peeta. The greatest intrigue concerns the latter, so Duke and Haymitch have their hands full.

That night, Effie, the stylists, and the tributes rejoin us for the parade. As the chariots begin to move, Duke leads us Victors away again, this time to stands ringing the City Circle. Many Capitolites make way for us admiringly, applauding and smiling. When one man brushes his hand across my shoulder, Haymitch leaps on him like a trained attack dog, swatting him away.

"Hey, watch it, asshole! Beat it!" He then has to cover and actually fake that he's drunk and belligerent, which Duke goes right along with, apologizing profusely for Haymitch's scurrilous behavior. I can only imagine how many times the former drug addict has had to do that. You never know who might be a potential sponsor, and you never, ever want to incur one's displeasure.

Peeta and Quinn make quite a splash thanks to Cinna's designs, as Reuben and I did last year. The fire motif has become quite popular among the citizens. President Snow gives his speech, and we whisk our tributes into the Training Center. Floor 12. The penthouse. Thank God for adequate office space.

Training begins the very next morning. Over those three days, Duke and Haymitch and I spend them fielding calls from more sponsors. Quinn and Peeta's entrance in the parade spiked the interest of big money donors. Quinn has earned a lot more interest, which makes my job easier, but Peeta still gets a majority of buzz and mention, which either makes Duke's and Haymitch's job easier or harder. From the way they're diving for their phones ringing off the hook, I can't quite tell.

The evening of the third day, the Gamemaker scores are broadcast by Caesar. Quinn pulls a 9, right with most of the Careers. Peeta is right behind her with an 8. I'm pleased.

On the fourth day, I spend the whole of it prepping Quinn for her interview with Caesar that night. I take a different approach than Haymitch did with me, being encouraging. We eventually craft an aloof and mysterious angle that suits both our purposes nicely. From what my colleagues are telling me, Peeta is going for likable. Self-deprecating.

That night, the interviews begin. Now with a front-row seat in the studio audience, I feel myself paying more attention to each tribute's time in the spotlight. Even then, however, the first eleven districts fly by. Quinn finally takes the stage. To complete her angle, she gives Caesar very coy answers without being dim about it; pretty soon, she has the audience eating out of her hand, begging her for more than she is willing to tell. The buzzer sounds all too quickly for them.

Now, it is Peeta's turn. He does come off as extremely likable. What I didn't realize about him is just how witty he is. He and Caesar quickly fall into a joking rapport that makes it seem as though they've known each other forever. At last, the host turns serious:

"Now, Peeta, tell me: is there a special girl back home?"

Peeta tarries in indecision for a moment too long before shaking his head, making it clear to even the dumbest Capitolites that he's hiding something.

"I don't believe him for a second: look at that face!" Caesar pounces. "Peeta: tell me."

Peeta finally comes clean. "Well, there is this one girl I've had a crush on forever. But I'm pretty sure she didn't realize I was alive until the Reaping."

The audience moans sadly; even Effie, seated a few spots down from me, next to Cinna, is teary.

"So win!" Caesar encourages, but Peeta shakes his head sadly.

"That's not gonna help me at all, Caesar."

"And whyever not?"

"Because she came here with me. As my mentor."

There is no dramatic pause from him in his declaration. Just fast and quick, the way Effie pulls names for death. Nevertheless, my realization of what he means hits me like a wave in slow motion. _Me! He means me!_

* * *

I am the first one out of my seat after the programming ends. The first back to the elevator and up to the penthouse suite. I enter my room and pace around, making sure to lock the door. It might not matter. Duke and Haymitch will have the good sense to leave me in peace. And so will Quinn. And _he_ better the hell stay away...

I can't believe what I just heard. Peeta Mellark loves me! _Me_! My tribute has fallen in love with me! Or has been in love with me since God knows when. Either way, it is unfathomable.

I pause in my brooding and stare at myself in the mirror. Even with a year of excellent nutrition - the best in my life - I am still skinny as a rail. Small breasts. And I've never considered myself particularly pretty; Prim always held that title.

After a time, even my room begins to feel suffocating. I need a better place to clear my thoughts. I get an idea.

I head up to the roof of the Training Center. The air is vast and clear up here. It's also very safe, especially for tributes - a forcefield prevents despondent ones from attempting to jump to their deaths. Pacing along the smooth stone, I jump when I discover a figure sitting against the railing, backlit against the harsh lights of the city.

Peeta is staring down at the crowds far below, already cramming the main thoroughfares for great views of the Games when they go live tomorrow. Though I should feel angry with him, should berate him for his nerve, should leave in a huff before he even realizes I'm here, I find myself drawn to him. I sit down across from him.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks casually, without even turning his head.

I snort. "I think you should know why." This finally gets him to look at me, and I can see something in his eyes: a mixture of fear and stoicism. Perhaps he's preparing himself for me to give some kind of speech, of how I'm flattered but ultimately don't feel the same. Letting him down easy. It is a gaze that makes my throat clog up, my planned thoughts go numb.

So, instead, I whisper, "I'm sorry I left so hastily."

He shrugs. "You were shocked. Anybody would be."

"Probably no one more than me. I've... never had a boy like me before," I admit, mumbling. Though I was indeed angry with him at first, as I sit here and talk with him, I find myself becoming less angry and more... touched. Honored, perhaps. Another thought strikes me, one I absolutely have to say. "I never got to thank you. For the bread."

Peeta raises an eyebrow. "From when we were kids?" He sounds surprised.

I can't look at him. "It meant more than you know," I murmur. I force my eyes back to his. "If I was allowed to visit you in the Justice Building, I would have told you there."

Peeta gazes at me, his interest piqued by my admission. He feels moved to give one of his own. Though what could possibly top confessing your love? "I would have visited you last year to tell you how I felt, but of course, my mother wouldn't let me."

I'm not surprised. His mother is a witch of a woman, and very prejudiced against anyone Seam. I've even heard whispers that she beats her three sons, Peeta the youngest of them. I decide to change the subject.

"Nervous for tomorrow?"

"You mean nervous to die?" he corrects.

"Don't say that!" I find myself chiding fiercely.

"Why not? It's true. I've never been much of a contender in these Games anyway. No. I'm only afraid that... they'll change me in there. Turn me into something that I'm not."

He means the Gamemakers. And maybe even the other tributes. "How would they change you?" I ask, softly, gently.

"I just... want to find a way to show them that they don't own me. If I'm gonna die, I want to still be me."

His admission is so deep, so eloquent and profound, that I have to look away. When I raise my eyes back up, I find Peeta drawing closer to me. "And I also don't want to die with any regrets."

I deduce immediately what he is doing, and yet find myself powerless to stop it. His eyes are entrancing, even drawing me in like some kind of snake charmer. A powerful hypnosis that will not relax its grip. I vaguely feel his one hand cup my cheek, tuck the loose strands of my brown hair behind my ear. As our lips draw closer, as I actually feel my eyes flutter shut, only one thought forms coherently in my brain: _Peeta Mellark is going to kiss me..._

A sudden noise from somewhere in the stairwell leading to the roof halts us before our lips touch. I shrink back, flushing, embarrassed. Peeta looks both bashful and regretful that he did not fulfill his chance, probably his dearest wish. His dying wish. To kiss me. To give me my first kiss, whether he realizes that or not.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow." And he strides off the roof, leaving me alone in the light of the moon and the city to think over what just occurred. What almost occurred. How he almost kissed me. How I almost kissed him.

And how I almost - _almost_ \- wanted him to.


	7. Chapter 7: The Fallen Gates of Rome

**Chapter 7: The Fallen Gates of Rome**

It is not Effie who wakes me that morning. It is a sharp rap on the door from Haymitch, telling me if I don't get up right now, I won't get any breakfast. I consider going slowly anyway, just to piss the drunk off, but decide against it, knowing that at that rate, I'll miss saying goodbye to our tributes.

I ready myself and scarf down some food. It is quite a relieving notion to know that such good eating is assured for me come later today, whereas this time last year, I didn't know if I would get another meal again. I then bound up the stairs to the roof of the Training Center, where the hovercraft will take the tributes to the arena.

Duke, Haymitch, Effie and the tributes are the only ones up there; the other mentors must have already dropped off their protégés, no doubt loaded inside as they are also nowhere in sight.

"Any last advice?" Peeta asks grimly.

"Stay alive," I quip, stealing Haymitch's line, yet communicating it seriously and earnestly to Peeta.

We say our goodbyes, assigned mentors to assigned tributes. I hug Quinn, and encourage her to avoid the Bloodbath if possible. "Find fresh water." Glancing over, I see Duke and Haymitch pump Peeta's hand. For both of them, the motion seems curt, correct; neither man says a word to their pupil. Peeta begins to walk towards the hovercraft, possibly out of my life forever.

All at once, I flash back to something he said on this very roof the night before, about not dying with regret. I realize he really does love me and wanted me to know. And even though I am unsure of my feelings, it dawns on me that I don't want to live with regret. I run to him, my decision only just made.

"Peeta, wait!" When he turns back to me, I throw my arms around him. Pulling his neck down to me, I kiss him fiercely on the lips. I have never kissed a man before. My lips run over his awkwardly, clumsily. It takes a moment or two to get the hang of it, to flow with that easy give-and-take as I find Peeta's lips pressing just as intensely into mine following the initial stiffness of surprise. I close my eyes in pleasure and sink my fingers into his curly blonde hair. I part his lips with mine, slip my tongue in between the spilt until it bumps into his own tongue. I massage it gently, until I feel Peeta's lips dig deeper into mine, pry open my own mouth so he can return the sensuous gesture. I suddenly moan in satisfaction. "Hmmmmm..."

After what seems like several sunlit days, I break apart. Draw away. Release him tenderly. This is my last gift to him. If he dies, he can do so with the taste of my lips on his. Peeta is staring at me in wonder, as if he knows what an uncharacteristic move that was on my part. Maybe he really does know me. Maybe he really does love me.

"For luck," I gasp. He nods, and then suddenly takes me by my waist, pulls me close. "Another one for the road?"

I half-frown and half-smirk, genuinely amused as I raise an eyebrow. "Come back alive, Bread Boy," I find myself saying. "Then we'll see."

Peeta grins the widest I have ever seen him, and bounds onto the hovercraft after Quinn with a new vigor. Turning away as the craft lifts off into the sky, I can see that Effie has already gone. But Duke and Haymitch are still there.

And they both do not look happy. Duke is frowning intensely; it is rare for him to show disapproval, but when he does, he makes it very clear. Haymitch, for his part, looks like he wants to crack a liquor bottle over my head.

"You shouldn't have done that, Katniss," Duke tells me as the three of us proceed to the elevator that will lead us down to wherever the mentors gather. "You'll only encourage him."

His comment rubs me the wrong way, so I round on him. "What the hell's your problem?" The old drug addict stops dead. "Or yours?" I pivot to Haymitch.

They both look surprised at my forcefulness, but also a little... cold? Finally, Duke answers, "Quinn got a higher score in training."

His throwaway comment, his irrelevant non-answer, throws me, and I half-laugh, gawking at him. "So? She just edged him out. Peeta practically drew even with her!"

"Her interview was better," Haymitch offers up, but it sounds insincere, as though he is fishing for something to pull out of his drunk ass.

"Oh, really? Then why is it Peeta's interview that's been playing on a non-stop loop for the last twelve hours?"

Their rationalizations for their odd behavior don't make any sense. I begin to think back to how they have been acting since the start of the Games, particularly with Peeta. Not being happy when I essentially assigned them to him based on gender. Haymitch asking Quinn a question while not answering Peeta's. How they both seemed frazzled by the amount of attention Peeta was getting from sponsors. And their bizarre farewell to him just now on the roof. The flashbacks only expand, and I find myself wheeling back to last year, with Reuben. He went quickly, sure, but it wasn't as though he tried. He left soon after Haymitch's antics on the first train ride and stayed unenthused thereafter.

But maybe he showed such little enthusiasm... because he was provided little encouragement. Now, why would that be?

Unless...

I gape at both men. "You don't want Peeta to win."

Duke's mouth falls open. "Katniss..."

"You're prejudiced against Merchant tributes."

Even Haymitch now has the good sense to look hurt. "Now that's getting... personal, Sweetheart." His less-than-vehement denial convinces me that I've hit the nail on the head. The thought that either of them wouldn't want Peeta - good, sweet, gentle Peeta! - to win just because of his background causes me to burst into tears.

"You aren't fair! You aren't fair!"

Duke raises an eyebrow. " _Not fair_? How not?"

"Oh, don't fall for her bullshit, Duke!" Haymitch snarls. "She's just upset because that boy has twisted her panties into a knot! What, sweetheart? You want him to come home cause your _pussy's_ dripping wet?"

I fly at him in a rage. "YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH!"

"Hey... _Hey_!" Duke dives between us, forcing us apart. When he's gotten both of us calmed down, he sighs, running a hand down the bridge of his nose the way he always does when he's stressed. "Katniss, please understand that neither Haymitch nor I have anything against Peeta personally... but you also have to learn a very hard lesson. And that is mentors have to choose between their tributes. No, it isn't fair. And sometimes, it's based on arbitrary criteria, like training scores and interviews. We believe Quinn has a better shot based on both. We have to be strategic and place our hopes in her to win."

I stare at him, not able to believe what I am hearing. "But what about Peeta?"

"I only wish him goodwill. But, Katniss..." and here Duke stares at me hard, curiously. "Why is this so important to you? Is it because you are in love with him?"

I can't look him in the eye. But, I nevertheless feel I speak the truth when I mumble. "It isn't about love. Or attraction."

Silence from both men. I wait. "Go on," Duke encourages.

Finally, I get it out: "He saved my life once." And I tell both him and the drunk about how Peeta tossed me bread when my family and I were starving. I appeal to my older mentor: "Duke, you know what it's like when we Seam folk owe someone. And though he probably won't admit, Haymitch does, too."

Both men look at each other, and I can see guilt in their features. Duke finally faces me.

"OK, Katniss. We'll make you a deal: if you promise to help us help Quinn, we'll promise to help you help Peeta. Then, whoever outlasts the other, we will all pour in our efforts to help that person win. Is it a bargain?"

I answer in the affirmative by way of a handshake.

"We have to go into that Bar as a united front, sweetheart," Haymitch reminds me. "The other districts will be looking to us, more than they ever have."

We take the elevator down. After a brief time, we enter into a world filled with liquor and smoke. My first thought is: _This is Haymitch's kind of place_.

We have entered a Bar. Throughout the joint, Victors sit and chat. There are booths lining the walls. The main bar is populated with stools, behind which a bartender mixes drinks. Flatscreen TVs are overhead, scattered so that you can always see at least one.

My observation of the Mentors' Bar is interrupted when a handsome face gets right close to mine. "Hey, you! Yeah, you! When's your birthday?"

I blink at the handsome young lad with bronze hair and sea-green eyes, baffled. "Uhhh..."

"Birthday. Do you know when your birthday is? Well, do ya?" he demands again.

"May 8th," I get out.

"Shoot! I'm one month older! That means you're the youngest tribute to win ever!" He sticks out a hand. "Finnick Odair, District 4."

Ahh, Finnick. I remember. He was crowned about eight years ago at only 14 after a sponsor gave him a really expensive trident - the most valuable gift I've ever seen given in the arena.

Duke now smiles, and pretends to playfully shoo Finnick away. "Give the girl some space, Odair! You can flirt with her later!"

Finnick winks at me and dances away. A young woman, who's probably between his age and mine, about 19, now approaches. I instantly recognize her as my immediate predecessor: Johanna Mason, District 7.

"Well, guess you're the new life of the party now," she drawls, studying me as if I am the scum on her shoe. She nods cordially to Duke and Haymitch. "Hats off to you, Grandpa and Pop-Pop."

Haymitch scowls, and I'm about to cheekily ask which one is Grandpa and which one is Pop-Pop when deafening cheers go up. I feel Duke push me forward.

"10 A.M. already! Games are starting! We need to get good seats."

Haymitch does the dirty work of pushing other people out of the way until we reach the edge of the bar, grabbing stools three abreast. Indeed, the flatscreen have already gone live. I feel my heart jump into my throat as I get my first sight of the arena.

The arena has been set in the ruins of a fallen city. Crumbling buildings are everywhere, mixing with the sharp sandstone and gravel of the ground. The Cornucopia stands in what was once probably a main square. Weapons and backpacks are scattered outward from the horn, mixing in with half-structures and slabs of stone the way they did with the stalagmites in my arena last year.

The gong goes off quicker than I imagined it would, and the tributes spring for the loot. Between all the action, the individual pockets of battle, the cameras have a hard time capturing the best moments, or even keeping up. Me? I'm getting dizzy, trying to only keep track of the two tributes who matter most to me. I sense Haymitch offer me a drink, but I ignore him. As if that would clear my head.

I finally spy Peeta grab a backpack and pick up the spear propped up next to it. He uses the tip to bully back the boy from District 8. When his adversary persists, Peeta simply plunges the tip into the boy's heart. BOOM. Quinn now appears on screen, armed with a backpack herself, and - most chillingly of all - a set of tanning knives. The district partners ally and take off at a run, disappearing into the ruins.

The Bloodbath goes on the rest of the morning. At last, anyone who can still move has cleared out, with the exception of the Careers. Like last year, their entire pack has remained intact.

For the remainder of the day, phones lined along the bar and on other tables ring off the hook. Duke and Haymitch and I work on a shift system to keep up with them all. Peeta's and Quinn's survival and teaming up has left sponsors very impressed and eager to help.

Near the end of the day, the total death toll is sounded out in cannons. I count twelve. Half gone, once again pretty average for a Games. When not placing calls to sponsors, I watch the screens, which are devoting quite a bit of airtime to Quinn and Peeta. I report to either Haymitch or Duke if anything new occurs.

Evening falls many hours later, and with it, the faces of the dead are projected into the sky.

Both from 3. The girl from 5. Both from 6 through 8 (Johanna must be bummed to lose hers so quickly). Girl from 9. Girl from 10. And boy from 11.

I slump in my seat, relieved at my tributes' safety being made official. I flag down the bartender.

"Glass of ice water! On the rocks!"

Haymitch laughs at me, no doubt amused by my inexperience with ordering "the good stuff", or even any "stuff" at all.


	8. Chapter 8: Pick a Pocket or Two

**Chapter 8: Pick a Pocket or Two**

When I wake up, the Bar is gone. How odd. And embarrassing - I must have fallen asleep in the middle of the day. When I look out my window, it is dark. I check my nightstand clock. 9 P.M. So it hasn't been night for long. How did I get here? Duke probably carried me up and put me to bed. Haymitch couldn't do it; he's too drunk.

Exiting my room, I take the elevator down from the Penthouse and back to the Mentors' Bar. The place is more subdued than it was this morning, but still busy. I find Duke at a table, phone in hand, just getting off with a sponsor.

"The boy is fine, but Quinn needs to prove she can kill?... Hmmm... Well, even if that doesn't happen right away, you'll think about a gift for Peeta, won't you?... OK... Thank you, Eurenicus. Bye." He hangs up and turns to me.

"Anything new happen? Thanks for putting me to bed, by the way," I say.

"Not at all," he smiles. "And no - all quiet on the western front, as they say. Peeta and Quinn took shelter in an abandoned apartment building about an hour ago. Made camp. Second floor." He points over my shoulder to a nearby screen. I follow his gaze. The camera is trained on the District 12 tributes, seated around a crude campfire. The blaze is not very big, and I can probably tell why - Peeta is way too smart to allow a fire like that to burn willy-nilly. It would act as a giant homing beacon for hunting tributes otherwise.

As I take a seat next to a passed-out Haymitch at the bar, the focus of the camera suddenly shifts. Judging from the faint glow of Peeta's campfire emanating from the edge of the screen, I deduce that the film crew has adjusted their attention one floor below... where the girl from 11 now sleeps beside a burned-out fire.

Suddenly, there is a rustling. A movement from somewhere nearby. The camera abruptly jumps back to Peeta and Quinn.

"What was that? The fire, put the fire out!" Peeta hisses, and he desperately stamps it in. He and Quinn now peer through a hole in the floor. With the camera now reflecting from their vantage point, we watch right along with the Twelve tributes as the boy from 5 stealthily approaches the sleeping girl from 11.

I tense in my chair, wishing I had something to distract me. Like a drink. Another cannon, another death, could be moments away.

But the boy from 5 does not pull a knife or any weapon. Does nothing to kill his adversary. Instead, he oh so quietly opens the flap of a backpack, near her, plucks the first thing he can get his hands on, and flees before we in the audience can see what it is he's swiped.

I shake my head, bemused and impressed at the steal. Of course. District 5 tributes are known for their stealth and cunning. Most of its Victors who won, and subsequent tributes who have fallen, last as long as they do by not fighting, if they can avoid it. If they do kill, it is usually very close to the end. Sometimes, it's the winning kill.

The camera now shifts back to Peeta and Quinn. Peeta's eyes are shining even in the moonlight. "She's out like a light! Quinn, listen: I bet you anything you could pull off the same trick."

Quinn wrinkles her nose. "Why me?"

"You're smaller than I am. When I walk, I sound like a herd of elephants!" Some of the mentors chuckle at Peeta's comment. "Just try it."

I don't know how I sense it, but something tells me Peeta is withholding the real reason why. Why he wants Quinn to perform this copycat maneuver. My breath catches: is he trying to manipulate her into a trap?

I can only wait and see as both Peeta and Quinn slip down to the first floor. They take some battered old stairs - dropping through the ceiling would be too risky. Silently, Quinn approaches the District 11 girl, and the same backpack the boy from 5 stole from. She flips open the flap...

Too fast. She does it too fast. The buckle rattles against something else metal on the strap. It's a tiny sound, but unfortunately, it's just enough.

The girl from 11 wakes with a start. The first thing she sees is Quinn. Drawing a scythe, she lunges at the opponent who has the temerity to try to steal from her. Quinn is knocked into the dusty gravel of the floor. The women wrestle and bite and kick.

Meanwhile, Peeta, whom the girl from 11 has still not seen, pulls his trusty spear and approaches the desperate squabble, calm as can be. He waits, judging for the right moment when the girl from 11 manages to flip herself on top.

Then he plunges his spear tip into her back, right between her shoulder blades. I wonder if the tip severed her spine. Perhaps it did, for the cannon - her death - is instantaneous. BOOM.

Peeta pushes the corprse off of his ally, and pulls her to her feet. Quinn eyes him warily until he safely pockets the spear, letting her know that he means her no harm. For now.

"Nice moves."

"Thank you," Peeta replies graciously.

"Just for future: don't ever pull a stunt like that again. I don't do bait." It's meant to come off as a joke, but Quinn's voice is still dangerous, low.

Peeta appears not to notice, for he only smiles. "Duly noted."

Then my tributes return to their second-floor camp and fall asleep for the remainder of the night.


	9. Chapter 9: Used Against Us

**Chapter 9: Used Against Us**

With the strong showing my tributes showed, I do not fall asleep for the rest of the night, using intermittent sips of water to stay awake. Occasionally, I'll use any extra I have to wake up Haymitch, who by morning is still sleeping off a raging hangover.

As the sun dawns the second day in the arena, there is a sudden rumbling caused by an unknown origin. The tremors wake Peeta, who staggers to the holes in the walls that serve as windows. But before he can look outside, the hole itself suddenly expands, with signifiant sections of the stone caving in. Peeta's eyes widen in understanding, and he rushes to Quinn's side to rouse her.

"Quinn! Run!"

The two allies pelt outside. They barely make it out before their apartment building crumbles in a heap to the earth. All around them, all across the square, similar ruins that were still standing are now succumbing to nature, creating new rubble through which to climb.

At last, the earthquake stops. No doubt it was a Gamemaker trap, an arena-style "Good morning!" And quite a rude one, too, for just then, another cannon sounds. Checking the monitors, I learn quickly that the victim is the boy from District 9.

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. Around noon, I take the shift to jimmy up sponsors. Since Quinn and Peeta are making it pretty far, the job seems easy, and I quickly arrange for a gift to be sent to them that evening. Duke then relieves me of duty. We decide to just divide the task between ourselves for today, so that Haymitch can walk off that hangover of his. He'll be no use to us - or the sponsors - sloshed.

That evening, the faces of the girl from 11 and the boy from 9 appear in the sky. My sponsor gift arrives, in the form of a pile of breads. Peeta and Quinn set up camp in the square tonight, at the base of an old fountain. Even though Peeta is supposed to stand guard, he quickly falls asleep right beside his partner.

This turns out to be a critical error. For who should appear but the thieving boy from 5 again. It is almost too easy, how he spies the parachute and swipes it, eyes gleaming. I am screaming at the TVs for Peeta, Quinn, somebody, to wake up, but no one hears me.

And it only gets worse. For the District 5 boy isn't here just to steal.

This time, he's here to kill.

He pulls a knife and stabs whom he must perceive to be the greater threat of the two - Quinn. Right in the chest. What he doesn't count on is her scream waking up Peeta. The boy tries to flee, but trips on some ruins and falls into the dirt. This gives Peeta the chance to make up for his not-as-sure-footedness and he pins the boy to the earth. Seeing what he almost nabbed from them sends the baker's son into a fit of rage; he uses the canister from the parachute to bash District 5's head in again and again. Until a pool of blood is oozing and expanding, mixing sickeningly with the dusty ground. The cannon fires.

Peeta runs back to Quinn with the bread, holds her hand, begs her to stay with him. But it's too late for her; she can't be saved. Another cannon sounds. Peeta sadly rolls her body away from camp, to allow the hovercraft to pick her up unencumbered.

Haymitch passes me a drink, which I finally accept. This mentoring stuff is exhausting - especially since we are already at the Final 8 and only two days in: all six Careers (like in my year), Peeta... and the boy from District 10, who I learn is named Tien.

One of the them will be the Victor of the 73rd Hunger Games.


	10. Chapter 10: Both Eyes Open

**Chapter 10: Both Eyes Open**

Duke is surprised, but nevertheless impressed, that Peeta managed to outlast Quinn. Per our agreement, all three of us Victors now pool our talents to advocate on our surviving tributes' behalf. Sponsors certainly are still fascinated by the Merchant boy who was fought so valiantly, but with the pool of tributes' dwindling, there seems to be a slight bias towards the maddeningly still-complete Career pack. They still have total control of the Cornucopia and its supplies in the Main Square.

Thankfully, Peeta is in a square totally separate of them. And in the middle of that third day, my colleagues and I manage to send him a canteen of water. It is getting brutally hot, and with so few ruins still standing, there is little in the way of shade. Sadly, water is the best we can do. With all the Careers still out there, Peeta is largely on his own for now, and at a loss over what to do next.

It is around high noon on the third day when Peeta senses movement on the edge of his square. He steals into the alcove of a still-upright building - likely a residential dwelling, from the looks of it. The shadows of the shade conceal him. He waits.

At last, a boy with brown skin, probably of Asian descent, comes into view. He has at least a half a foot on Peeta in height, and is armed with a bow. His choice of weapon surprises me. District 10 has a healthy crop of Victors, and talented tributes, largely because their weapon choices reflect their livestock upbringing and are thus, unique. Plowshares and hoes (yes, hoes!) have been used in combat before. But, to each his own.

Then, I - and Peeta onscreen - get a good look at Tien trying out the weapon. And he is just plain awful at it. He can't keep the bow steady, and the arrow keeps comically slipping; he hasn't strung it properly.

Suddenly, five cannons are heard in rapid succession. Shifting my eyes to another screen, I see bodies strewn about the mighty horn, with a sole black boy - Othello from District 2 - still standing. Oh no. The Career alliance is over. Peeta and Tien will be hunted next.

Hearing the cannons from over in the next Square, Tien actually leaves his bow, draws a sword and goes to investigate. Left alone, Peeta seizes the opportunity, and puts the skills he learned from the District 5 boy to good use. He swipes the bow, and studies it, trying to string it. He's certainly better at it Tien, but can he use it?

A scream makes Peeta dive for cover again. Tien bursts back into the square, with the beast Othello in hot pursuit. African tackles Asian until both sprawl into the dust. Seizing a brick, Othello proceeds to strike Tien with it over and over again until the latter moves no more. BOOM.

From his hiding place, I see Peeta make a quick decision as Othello rises slowly, his back to the baker's son. The last Career is winded from his fight, recovering.

And Peeta uses this to full advantage. Stringing the bow, he takes aim at Othello's back. His grip is strong and critically, he keeps both eyes open. He's probably watched me and how I shoot.

The District 2 mentors are screaming at Othello to turn around, screams he cannot hear. Too late. Peeta fires, swift and true.

THUNK.

BOOM.

Othello seizes up before falling forward.

The Bar erupts in cheers. Duke and Haymitch and I roar in triumph, smiling smugly at the dirty looks other mentors send our way. Only Career Districts have managed to get back-to-back wins, and the last one was over a decade ago.

Meanwhile, Claudius Templesmith announces Peeta Mellark of District 12 as Victor of the 73rd Annual Hunger Games.


	11. Chapter 11: Jealous

**Chapter 11: Jealous**

Peeta is extracted from the arena and cleared by the doctors in no time. He received very few physical injuries. The interview with Caesar goes live very quickly.

When Peeta strides onstage, looking beautiful and whole, I feel a wave of... love wash over me. Standing from my seat in the front row, I approach him. Smiling, I reach for him, but then shrink back, feeling shy. I've never... kissed anyone this openly before... But a promise is a promise.

I kiss him passionately. In front of the entire studio audience. Caesar is beside himself, the Capitolites are hysterical. Thrusting my hips forward, I lock my pelvis against Peeta's as I wrap one arm around him to pull him closer. With the other, I fish at the waistband of his pants. Slipping my fingers past the elastic, I finally clasp his length in my grip. I stroke it clumsily, but vigorously. I pump the shaft up and down, rubbing him faster and faster.

Peeta moans like a dying man and begins to hump his hips into my palm. Thankfully, from the way we are positioned, no one can even tell or is aware that I am literally giving him a hand job.

After several minutes, Peeta groans into my mouth and explodes in my hand. His juices burst forth, soaking my fingers. Retracting my hand sneakily, I lick my fingers one by one sensuously, still so only he can see.

Peeta finally gets to watch the marathon of his Games. His win was actually more impressive than mine, given that he killed four tributes to my three. President Snow places the Victory Crown on his head, and our entourage heads for the train.

* * *

We stay up all night as we ride through the darkness for home, chit-chatting and laughing. Finally, Duke turns serious, leaning across the table to look Peeta dead in the eye.

"Peeta, we owe you an apology."

"Well, the old man and I do," Haymitch clarifies. "Sweetheart is clean."

Duke holds up a hand; he wasn't finished. "Haymitch and I did not do enough to help you before the Games. And that is because... we sadly let some of our personal prejudices get in the way. We made pre-conceived notions about you as a Merchant. But you're one of us now - a Victor. We're sorry."

Peeta blinks, as if this is news to him. And maybe it is - he is rather innocent and always tries to see the best in people. "Thanks, fellas. I forgive you. Besides," And here he gives me the most tender smile, "I have everything I could ever want."

My breath hitches in my throat and my eyes prick with tears. How could someone so... pure love someone like me? I feel blessed almost to the point of feeling unworthy of such love.

It is early morning by the time the train pulls into the District 12 station. This time, we decide to change up our group's procedure, letting Peeta bound into the crowd of friends and well-wishers. He embraces his family on the platform as Duke, Haymitch and I sidle up.

Predictably, Peeta's witch of a mother is viewing us Seam folk with deep mistrust. Even if we are Victors, she will always see us as Seam. But the Baker is genuine when he holds out his hand.

"Thank you... for saving my son's life."

After a moment, Duke shakes. Haymitch and I follow our leader, shaking the Baker's hand as well. Then we all head up towards the Village to induct the newest member of our little family.

* * *

It's a few weeks after the Games before I see Gale again.

Getting Peeta acclimated to Village life, as well as getting to know him better on a romantic level, has been so busy, I forget to hunt for a time. Not that we Victors are wanting for anything in terms of food.

When I finally do meet Gale for a Sunday hunt, we shoot game and set snares as normal. However, as we are approaching the fence for home, I am just telling him how I will take over the trading for the week when my hunting partner suddenly takes my face in his hands and kisses me.

I am completely unprepared. Gale doesn't taste anything like Peeta - and he certainly doesn't kiss like the baker's son either. Indeed, there is something about Gale's kiss that is rough, almost angry. It's as if he is... no, he couldn't be... Then again, he did see me kiss Peeta on TV...

Gale draw away almost violently. "I had to do that," he whispers intensely. "At least once." And then he's gone.

I sit in the Meadow for a long time after that, pondering what just occurred. I manage to decide that Gale probably is jealous of my blossoming relationship with Peeta.

What I also come to a realization on, though it is more tepid, is that... his rough and almost violent kiss?

I actually _liked_ it.

Which only begs one question: do I love Gale, too?


	12. Chapter 12: 74th Reaping

**Chapter 12: 74th Reaping**

By now, I feel that the Victors' Village is becoming its own little, thriving community. Why, I bet we could secede from District 12 and still survive on our own quite well.

Peeta has taken to life as a Victor nicely. Being the first successful tribute from our district to be born a Merchant, he has his own star power, and legions of fans, even across class lines. But he never lets it go to his head, staying his humble self. Indeed, he pulls his own weight in the Village, just like everyone else.

And everyone has something to contribute. I hunt. Haymitch drinks. Duke whittles and carves. Though only relatives of a Victor, my mother and Prim continue to heal pretty much the entire district single-handedly. And Peeta bakes. Though, he lives alone in his mansion (his family declined the opportunity to move in with him, preferring to stay with the bakery in town), my new lover bakes enough bread to last six people several weeks. He even teaches me how to mix the ingredients and the batter. And his attempt to teach Duke how to knead dough quickly becomes one of my fondest memories; as I watch the old man experiment with the substance, the years seem to melt away from his face and he becomes a little boy again.

"I must say, I'm glad you won, Peeta, my boy," the reformed drug addict admits. "We could always use a baker."

Peeta's Victory Tour is a whirlwind adventure. I go by myself to mentor him and support him. Let the older men take a break; they've more than earned it. As we go from district to district, I am surprised to discover that there is more interest in Peeta's and my relationship, rather than just Peeta, the latest Victor. This unnerves me somewhat; the whole Tour should be about him! Such an observation makes me even more protective of Peeta than I usually have been these first several months we've been together. I can now see what Duke meant - you do feel a deeper connection to the first Victor to come after you.

* * *

All too soon, it is yet another summer. And with it, yet another Games.

When the Peacekeepers come to collect us early that morning, I am ready. And our system is much more efficient than it was last year; each Victor is now escorted from his porch one by one in order of seniority, instead of all at once. I am now nestled in between Haymitch and Peeta. I give my boyfriend a reassuring smile as he is guided through this procedure for the first time, letting him know there is nothing to fear.

Once we are all lined up, Cray locks down his gun. "Victors... quick... march!" And we begin our military strut. Here we go again.

As we head down the hill from the Village, I feel Peeta lean forward and say loudly into my ear, "Why are we doing this? Pass it on!"

Smirking at what has by now become an inside joke, I lean forward and call to Haymitch, "Why are we doing this? Pass it on!"

Haymitch now starts to repeat the motion towards Duke. "Why are we doing this? Pass it - Oh, for fuck's sake... WE HAVE TO MEET THE MAYOR!" he roars. Peeta and I burst out laughing. Even our Peacekeeper escorts can't help but giggle. I think I see Cray smile, which is a remarkable accomplishment in and of itself.

Finally arriving at the Justice Building podium, we each shake Mayor Undersee's hand before taking our seats of honor. Placed right next to Peeta, I reach out and clasp his hand in mind. He is about to see the Reaping from a whole new perspective... and I only hope he can handle it.

By high noon, the whole of the District has arrived. I tense nervously when I see Prim amongst the twelve-year-old girls. Her first Reaping ever. And if I know the Capitol, there's a good chance this whole ceremony is rigged to ensure my baby sister's participation.

Mayor Undersee takes the microphone and reads the Dark Days spiel. It is almost like magic, how Haymitch conks out upon hearing the first word of the speech. Peeta and I, meanwhile, entertain ourselves by playing a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. Only Duke listens with rapt attention.

Then, our names are read: "The Victor of the 13th Hunger Games: Duke Vedaldi! The Victor of the 50th Hunger Games, or Second Quarter Quell: Haymitch Abernathy! The Victor of the 72nd Hunger Games: Katniss Everdeen! The Victor of the 73rd Hunger Games: Peeta Mellark!"

Once again, the cheers are louder for Peeta and myself, for our consecutive wins. Effie finally has her turn in the spotlight.

"Welcome, welcome! Today, we have to honor of selecting one brave boy and girl for the honor of representing District 12 in the 74th Annual Hunger Games. As always: ladies first!" She swipes from the Girls Reaping Bowl and I wait to hear Prim's name, even as I will it not to be so. _Please, no... please..._

"Madge Undersee!"

There is a gasp as my eyes fly open. I see a glimpse of the Mayor, in the process of turning as white as a sheet. His own daughter takes the stage from the 16-year-old girls. No one volunteers for her, or otherwise makes a sound.

"Wonderful! And now for the boys!" The same quick, devil-may-care selection of one life to destroy.

"Gale Hawthorne!"

I nearly topple out of my chair, and only manage not to by the strong arm Peeta keeps on my shoulder. His last Reaping. His very last Reaping, and my hunting partner and best friend... and perhaps more has been chosen. Trying to find something to focus my eyes on that isn't _him_ , I catch sight of Cray. And he is smiling wickedly. The gesture makes my blood boil, and I realize: was this the rigging I had predicted? Had I just been focusing all my attentions on the wrong person? Gale has been known to hunt more audaciously and illegally than even I do; his run-ins with Peacekeepers who don't let his trading slide have been often enough. Why, just a few months ago, Cray had him beaten for killing a deer that supposedly belonged to the Mayor; my Victor friends and I had to intervene. It took the combined efforts of Duke, Haymitch _and_ Peeta to carry him back to my mother in the Village. Also, I need not ignore the fact that Gale has voiced un-patriotic thoughts against the Capitol in the past. The Hunger Games are a perfect way to get rid of a potential rebel leader and rabble-rouser.

Over the course of my thoughts, Madge and Gale have shaken hands, and I feel Peeta and Haymitch holding me up with their arms and guiding me into the Justice Building.

* * *

Like last year with Peeta and Quinn, we Victors head for the train immediately, and wait for Effie to bring our tributes to us. It's just as well - a distraction like this redirects me from wanting to storm the Justice Building to talk to my best friend, even though it's against the rules.

While we wait, I voice all my theories about Gale's selection to my comrades. Duke thinks it is certainly plausible. Peeta remains uncharacteristically silent.

"And what about Madge? Mayor Undersee must be devastated -"

"DO NOT MENTION THAT NAME!" We all jump and look to Haymitch, who I now see is nursing a bottle tighter than normal. There is something swimming within his eyes, a something I have come to recognize well, especially these last two years: pain.

"You don't think the girl's selection was spontaneous, do ya?" he slurs.

Duke lays a hand on his apprentice's shoulders. "Haymitch... this might not be the best way..."

I lean forward. "What are you talking about?"

Haymitch shrugs Duke off. Finally, he mumbles, "Madge's aunt competed with me."

I stare, hardly daring to believe what I just heard. "The Mayor's wife's sister, you mean?" I had always known Mrs. Undersee had a sister, and that she had passed away. I just never knew how. Another thought strikes me, one horrible and sickening. "Did you kill her?"

Haymitch shakes his head. "With 48 tributes? No. But I may as well have. Her name was Maysilee. We were allies... got really close to the end together... at the Top Five, I broke it off. I knew if it came down to her and me - as it darn well could have - I wouldn't have it in me to do it. Soon after we broke ways, I heard her scream." I see the old drunk actually choke up. "She died when mutant birds pierced her neck. All alone, except for me there... holding her hand..."

Duke pats Haymitch's shoulder soothingly, and I realize that the former would have mentored Maysilee, right along with the young man who would make District 12 history. Her death must be hard for the old man, too.

Effie mercifully now arrives with Gale and Madge, and the train takes off. This time, Duke and Haymitch try their damnedest to play fair to both pupils, regardless of Merchant or Seam. But even if Peeta's victory hadn't made the older men change their ways, Madge's presence may have, as they would be pressured to honor the deceased Maysilee.

Peeta, for his part, brings up some excellent points, trying to learn his new mentor task by doing. But he seems to direct most of his advice towards Madge, acknowledging Gale only when he has to. Funny - this is the first time the two... rivals for my affection have spent any significant time together. Peeta must know the connection I have with Gale. And I realize it must make him feel torn. He surely wants to bring another Victor home alive, while at the same time risking it be Gale and thus not having me to himself.

It's gonna be a long Games...

* * *

The media is absolutely bonkers. But I shouldn't be surprised - with back-to-back wins, our underdog district now looks like the odds-on favorites for this year. The paparazzi is looking for us to pull off a hat trick.

After leaving Madge and Gale with their stylists, Duke leads the way to our secret broom cupboard closet in the back of the chariot stables. All the way over, I hold Peeta's hand, whispering to him and kissing him and trying to make him feel comfortable as a new Capitol celebrity.

We are so busy kissing, in fact, that we barely hear Duke activate the secret door (which now bears Peeta's name), scarcely register him struggling to push the door in as it bumps up against furniture ("I said that I wanted SMALL desks!" the old druggee grouches). Peeta and I are full-blown making out now... at least, until I suddenly lose my balance.

We go crashing into Haymitch, who gives a roar of indignation as he goes crashing into Duke. We all tumble into our office in a heap, landing amongst desks much too large for us with a clatter.

Duke is the first one on his feet, his back to us, his body language stiff. He finally rounds on us other three with a glare. Peeta and I leap apart, before distancing ourselves from our drunken mentor.

"That does it!" the old man snarls. "I don't need _you_ here, and I don't need _you_ here!" He points to Peeta and I in turn. "I'm _stuck_ with _you_!" He points at Haymitch, who promptly flips his master The Bird in response. "And if you two don't knock it off by the time I count to three..." He points between us kids.

We scramble to get to work, so as not to further incur our fearless leader's wrath, beginning the grueling task of ginning up sponsors. Right away, we run into problems. Though most donors are intrigued by our batch this year (and especially with Gale and his striking looks), they seem eager to give other districts a chance. To make matters worse, the overly large desks for Peeta and me means there is little floor space left in which to maneuver between the phones. And there are also too many bodies, it seems. Too many cooks in the kitchen.

Thank God we move to Floor 12 and the penthouse suite after the Parade. Gale and Madge steal the show once again with Cinna's fire routine. But as with the sponsors, I fear that our act is starting to go stale. It is with great hurry and maybe a little fear that we whisk our tributes into the Training Center.

While Gale and Madge train over the next three days, we all pool our efforts into collecting sponsors. The days are long, making our tributes' return for the night a great relief. At the end of the third day, Caesar broadcasts the training scores. Gale nets a 10, while Madge pulls off a 9. Haymitch is not pleased.

"The other mentors will be drilling their tributes on who to kill first: him," and he points to Gale.

The fourth and final day is spent prepping our apprentices for the interviews that night. I conclude that Peeta might be better served rounding up donors (leaving him alone with Gale in a room does not sound like the best idea). At the same time, he needs to show investment in his tribute. I compromise by having him and Duke mentor Gale, while Haymitch works the phones. I coach Madge.

The interviews that night are a splash. Madge actually does not shy away from her family's history with the Games, and Caesar shows the courtesy of actually showing her aunt's death. It was brutal, but the real clincher is a young Haymitch holding Maysilee's hand as she passes.

Then it's Gale's turn. Duke and Peeta must have subdued his rebellious nature, for he says nothing contrary, as I feared he might.

* * *

That night, as I fall asleep, I realize with a start how I really do love Gale. It became almost unbearable to risk losing Peeta. Can I afford to lose Gale?


	13. Chapter 13: Forest Through the Trees

**Chapter 13: Forest Through the Trees**

By now, I have become accustomed to the sensation of waking to an alarm clock. It is at least better than waking to Effie's high-pitched voice, or Haymitch's rude banging on my door.

Apparently, my fellow Victors have adapted the same way, for having gone to bed wearing our day clothes, we emerge from our respective rooms at the same moment. It's like an army barracks - and we're in the mess.

We only have a drive-by breakfast, picking up spare rolls here and there as we pass through the penthouse, on our way to meet Effie and our tributes on the roof. There will be more nourishment in the Mentors' Bar anyhow, which Peeta has yet to see.

Just before the hovercraft, Gale looks grim; Madge, a little nervous. I give the Mayor's daughter a hug. Other than my hunting partner, Madge was the closest thing I had to a friend before I won the Games. I sold strawberries to her every Saturday. The thought that such a weekly ritual might not happen anymore makes me hold her extra tighter. "Run. Get away, and find water."

I then turn to face Gale. Merely looking at him makes my throat clog up. Gale seems to be struggling to hold it together as well, so he only asks, "Any last advice?"

My standard answer doesn't feel like the joke it once did, but nevertheless I say it. "Stay alive."

The next moment, Gale is yanking me to him and openly kissing me on the lips in front of everyone. And because it's Gale and I may never see him again, I kiss him back.

After a long moment, Gale forces himself to break from me. He strides to the hovercraft without another word, Madge following timidly. She almost looks hurt, but no more so than Peeta, who now marches towards the elevator despite not knowing how to get to the Bar. Effie dithers after him, perhaps to console him. I trudge along behind, flanked by my older mentors. Duke looks genuinely disappointed. Haymitch, meanwhile, seems to be seriously debating whether any in our entourage would care if he murdered me here and now. "Why you two-timing hussey..." he growls low.

I glower at him, relishing the fight that I know to be seconds away. Duke steps in between us.

"Haymitch..." he warns. "Now is not the time. We have to go in there as a 'united front.' Weren't those your exact words last year?"

Haymitch glares at his master, but cedes the squabble for now. Though I know I haven't heard the last of this, no matter how the Games turn out.

When the elevator opens into the Mentors' Bar, the hustle and bustle dies down as our colleagues stare at us intensely. Some of them are openly hostile in their gazes. I know they are trying to use any tricks short of mind-reading to get an advantage on our upstart District.

Duke, our fearless leader, guides us to the Bar. 4 stools are cleared for us as though refusal might mean death. Haymitch orders us drinks, his voice plainly calm. Only a few Victors come up to Peeta and wish him congratulations for joining our ranks.

At 10 AM sharp, the screens go live. Cheers split the air, particular from the Career Mentors. They are itching for a win, as the last time one of theirs was crowned occurred... seven, eight years ago. Ron Stafford of District 4, if my memory serves me correctly. Well, actually, that's not true. District 4 got a Victory the year before Johanna Mason. Annie Cresta was her name. But she went mad and hid after her district partner got beheaded. That was the year a dam broke in the arena and the whole place flooded. She only won because - being from District 4 - she was the best swimmer.

But I put that out of mind as I get a good look at the arena. And for the first time since the start of this Games season, I begin to feel... hope.

The arena is a dense forest, broken only by a field that houses the Cornucopia. I might be fooled into believing these woods are the very woods beyond District 12. Was this arena born for Gale? For a hunter like him?

I don't come to an answer before the gong goes off. Gale is off of his pedestal immediately, running right into the fight. After a moment, I can see why - a bow. And... yes! He has it! Along with a sword. He is the first to reach the horn, but only for a moment, before the brute male from District 2 - Cato - is charging him, no doubt desperate to kill off one of his stiffest competitors early. The boy from District 7 is also arriving, diving for an axe just off to one side of Gale's foot. In a show of force, Gale plunges his sword into District 7's back, then whirls around and swipes bravely for Cato. With no weapon yet, Cato leaps back and does not pursue the potential kill further; this gives Gale time to run out of the Bloodbath already forming. He grabs a backpack on the way out.

And then, an amazing thing happens. He meets up with Madge, who has a weapon of her own, and the pair take off into the trees. An alliance. On second thought, I shouldn't be surprised. Gale might not care for most Merchants - as evidenced by his frosty relationship with Peeta - but for Madge, he makes an exception, based on our trading deals with her.

Knowing our apprentices are safe for now, we Victors watch the Bloodbath blandly. Unlike past years, several tributes from other districts stand out. The girl from 5 is sly and elusive. And the Careers are the strongest pack I have seen in years, taking responsibility for most of the initial kills. By the time the fighting is over, by the time the cannons sound, 11 have perished. 13 left to play. About half, as usual.

Gale and Madge spend the rest of the day hunting. They set a few snares and catch a rabbit, but don't dare make a fire. Not while night is fast approaching. As the sun sets, our tributes climb a tree, to watch the faces of the dead appear in the sky.

The girl from 3. The boy from 4 surprises me; the Career pack didn't make it through unscathed. But he was only twelve, small. Easy pickings. The boy from 5. Both from 6 and 7. The boy from 8. Both from 9. The girl from 10. That's it.

Or maybe not. The cameras, which have been focused on Gale and Madge for most of the evening, now shift in the direction of a fire yards away from where the pair are perched. It's the girl from 8, but she is only in comfort for a moment before the snapping of a branch alerts her too late.

She screams horribly as Cato finishes her, followed by a cannon. The five Careers now stroll along, approaching the tree where the District 12 tributes are hiding with baited breath.

"12 down, 11 to go!" Marvel, the boy from 1, crows.

Back in the bar, the Career mentors are screaming at their pupils for somebody, anybody to just look up, for quite the kills. Thank God that Cato and the others can't hear these orders.

But that doesn't mean they can't discuss my students as though they are pieces of meat.

"The boy from 12 is mine!" Cato snarls. "How did he tie me in training?"

"Betcha the girl knows," Clove, his district partner snorts. "We should've taken her hostage and made her lead us to him."

"Let's keep going," Glimmer, the girl from 1, suggests. "These woods can't go on forever. We'll smoke those two out eventually."

And they move on, passing directly under Gale and Madge's tree, to the curses of their mentors. I sink back in my stool, overcome with relief.

The good news is that Gale and Madge, having overheard everything, know they are being hunted. The bad news is... they are being hunted.

Relentlessly.


	14. Chapter 14: Fireballs and Nests

**Chapter 14: Fireballs and Nests**

Our tributes wake up to fire raining down from the heavens.

Gale helps Madge out of the tree before leaping down himself. The two take off running through the forest, dodging screaming balls of flame left and right. Sometimes, the allies have to literally push and pull each other out of the way of these dangerous projectiles.

Back in the Mentors' Bar, I am gripping my drink in one hand, and Haymitch's arm in the other. This is a horrible Gamemaker trap - one of the worst I've seen in any arena. And it only gets worse.

One fireball manages to graze Madge's arena jumpsuit, singeing through to her thigh. Our tributes manage to shrink under a rocky outcropping, taking cover from the flames. After a while, the trap stops, but the damage is already done. Madge's burn could turn fatal if not treated.

We need a sponsor gift - and quickly.

I look to Peeta to see that he's already on it. His congenial manner must prove fruitful, for the phone conversation lasts only a few minutes. I have to smile in admiration. Peeta could sell ice to Eskimos. I dare to dive in and his kiss his lips, only to find that he twists away. I frown, but decide not to pursue an explanation.

And anyway, our troubles are far from over.

Gale is just finishing applying the sponsor's ointment to Madge's thigh, when Duke nudged me.

"Katniss." He points to another screen, and I nearly soil my pants. The Careers are across the river from where my pupils are hiding.

And Cato has spotted them.

He lets loose a whoop of victory, and the Careers leap into the flowing tides. Gale and Madge, albeit stiltedly, but they manage to put enough distance and time between them and their adversaries to climb a tree. High - fifteen feet up, by my estimation. When the Careers reach its base, they circle it like wolves or hound dogs. I can't help but smile. My tributes can climb trees. But the Careers can't.

Or so I think. Never underestimate an arrogant Career tribute. Cato, not to be outwitted or even concede defeat, attempts to climb up after them. He doesn't get very far before a branch gives way under his girth, and he lands hard. Naturally, he stands up swearing. What a beast.

It's getting on dark when Marvel, having seen several plans try and fail, growls, "Oh, let them stay up there. They're treed. We'll deal with them in the morning." And the Careers make camp, with Marvel acting as guard.

For thirty seconds. He's soon asleep too.

All alone and undisturbed for the moment, Gale and Madge spend the night trying to find a way out. In the wee hours of the morning, they find out.

Or, should I say, they find a person, who points the way out to them. It is Rue, the little girl from District 11 who could be my little sister with darker skin. High in a tree across from my friends, she directs them toward a nest of tracker jackers - deadly mutant wasps whose stings can induce hallucinations and even death.

Using Gale's sword, my tributes spend the rest of the night cutting the best free.

Right onto the sleeping Careers.

None of them stand a chance. Only Cato makes an escape, but the rest succumb to the stings. Four cannons sound one right after the other. After the insects have dispersed sufficiently, Gale and Madge exit the tree and vanish into the underbrush.

I don't need the sky to tell me how many tributes still live. I do the math myself. And I realize we are down to the Final Eight: Cato, District 3 boy, District 5 girl (whom I've nicknamed Foxface), District 10 boy with the bad leg, Thresh and Rue from 11, and Gale and Madge.

We could do it again - get another tribute home alive. We have to.


	15. Chapter 15: Sacrifice the Weak

**Chapter 15: Sacrifice the Weak**

When I arrive down in the Mentors' Bar on the morning of the third day, the screens are turned to Gale and Madge over their camp. Being two of only eight living tributes, there is little chance that another competitor will disturb them, at least for now. The arena is quite vast, at least according to the holographic layout provided to the mentors.

"You know, I'm impressed you've made it this far, Madge," Gale admits. "You even too down two tributes at the Bloodbath with those blowdarts. Where did you learn to do that?"

Madge visibly blushes at Gale's compliment. "My aunt used that as her weapon of choice when she competed."

For Gale, this is the first he's heard of the Undersee's family history with the Games. He stares at her. "Your aunt competed in the Games?"

"Yes," Madge almost whispers. "With Haymitch."

Gale now nearly falls back into the dirt. "Haymitch? Did he kill her?"

Madge's blond curls bounce as she shakes her head. "No. They were allies. Made it to the Top Five together. The arena got her. Mutts." The way she says it is clinical, almost detached; I suppose that is how she has dealt with the emotional pain.

Gale looks away. "I'm sorry."

Just then, Claudius Templesmith's voice booms throughout the arena. "Attention, tributes, attention: commencing at high noon, there will be a Feast at the Cornucopia. This is no ordinary occasion. Each of you needs something... desperately. And we plan to be... generous hosts."

Gale and Madge look at each other. "What could we possibly need at the Feast? We've got enough ointment for my burn, still."

Gale nods. "Maybe there are tools we could use to protect ourselves against Cato," he muses.

Madge frowns. "You really think it could come down to us and him, do you?"

"Almost certainly. But I'll tell you what: I say we go to the Feast and hide within the tree line. Watch what happens. Who falls, who lives. Then, we may have a better lay of the land."

"But what if whatever we desperately need is stolen?" Madge asks.

"That's just a risk we'll have to take," Gale replies grimly.

* * *

At high noon, Gale and Madge are just within the tree line, looking across the meadow at the imposing metal horn. When the sun reaches its peak position in the sky, there is a sudden, giant rumble, as a wooden table rises up out of the ground. On the table are six backpacks. Each must represent one of the six districts who still have a stake in these Games, for in fact, they each bear a number: 2, 3, 5, 10, 11, and 12.

There is a momentary pause. A silence. Waiting for the tension to break.

And then several things happen at once.

Foxface rushes out of the horn itself. The Bag Leg Boy from 10 suddenly emerges from a camouflage position on his stomach in the tall grass. Rue drops from the branch of a lone tree in the meadow, hanging over the table. And the District 3 boy runs around from the side of the horn. All four tributes reach the table at the same moment, grabbing for their backpacks simultaneously. They freeze, a deadly tableau. All are armed, even Foxface, and they now size each other up. Nobody moves or even dares to breathe.

Then Rue screams.

A giant net suddenly tumbles from the sky. Or, more accurately, the top of the horn. All four tributes are pinned underneath it; spikes sinking into the grass hold the net to the ground and prevent escape. Nevertheless, blades are drawn as the tributes desperately try to cut through the net.

A blond blur suddenly leaps from the top of the Cornucopia, landing before the net and laughing triumphantly. Cato. The tributes are easy pickings, as he quickly slices through their bodies, murdering them one by one.

Rue is last of all, and Cato takes his time, taunting her. "You thought you could fly away like a cowardly little bird? Thought you could win by hiding in trees? You're pathetic, you tiny runt! And now, I'm going to kill you..."

He stabs her through. My eyes fill with tears as her life expires. Four cannons sound in rapid succession, just like yesterday. The weak have been sacrificed. The last of the dead wood is gone. And now, the Games will really begin. And I begin to fear that Cato can - _will_ \- win it all.

But if there's one thing I've learned from being a tribute and a Victor, it's that the Hunger Games are full of surprises. Like the one that happens now.

A black blur slams into Cato, tackling him to the ground. It's Thresh, Rue's district partner from 11. I have not seen him since the start of the Games. But he's here now. And he's mad.

Cato is amazingly no match for the dark-skinned tribute, who now pins the blond boy beneath him.

"You think killing little girls is fun?" Thresh snarls. "Well, so is this!" And he draws a scythe across Cato's throat. BOOM. Taking his backpack, while amazingly leaving all the others behind (including Twelve's!) the new great threat in these Games takes off into some tall wheat fields that none of the other tributes have dared to venture into.

Meanwhile, Gale and Madge have witnessed everything in stunned silence. As soon as the hovercraft has recovered all five bodies, Madge sprints into the Meadow. She's headed for the wheat fields. Gale pelts after her, even as she grabs the backpack for their district.

"Madge, come back!"

"Gale, we can end this right now! Come on!" And he can do nothing but follow Madge into the tall stalks...


	16. Chapter 16: Big Black Bear

**Chapter 16: Big Black Bear**

The wheat fields are tall and imposing. And they all maddeningly look the same.

Gale and Madge quickly become lost as they seemingly go around in circles, searching for Thresh, their last enemy.

Gale has an arrow in the notch of his bow; Madge her blow dart at the ready, the dart dipped in poison. The arena has become deadly, morbidly silent.

"We'll never find him, Madge. We've got to get out of here!"

"Nonsense. It's all white and yellow in here. We find something black and voila! We make the kill," Madge replies.

"Or he finds us and kills us first! I say we try to find our way out of here and smoke him out."

Gale's words prove to be chillingly timely. For a sharp smell suddenly hits the tributes' noses. Madge wrinkles her nose and frowns. "Is that...?"

And it is. The black and gray plumes are rising from the stalks just a short distance beyond. Smoke!

"Forest fire! Run!" Gale calls. He and Madge pelt into the wheat, with no idea where they are going. But everywhere they seem to run, the fire has spread, forcing them to double back. They are trapped like rats!

Just when I think both will die by burning, a third figure suddenly appears, slamming into Madge.

Madge screams, biting and kicking. But Thresh is too powerful. Knocking her blow dart away, he sends the scythe across her chest in the same vicious way he slit Cato's throat. All at once, an arrow slices past his arm, grazing him.

"GAHHHH! AHHHH, get out of here!" Gale bellows, firing another arrow and missing. But it's enough. He drives Thresh away. Now alone, Gale cradles Madge's body in his arms. She is convulsing, already turning a ghastly pallor of white.

"Gale... I have to tell you something... I... I'm in love with you. I know it would have been... impossible, since I was from Town and you're... Seam, but... I wanted you to know."

Gale is stunned. He chokes up. And then he does the sweetest thing. He draws Madge close and kisses her lips. He even slips his tongue into her mouth, giving her a last, sensuous taste of him. It's out of pity; it must be, but Madge nonetheless treasures it, clutching Gale close with the last of her strength and moaning into his mouth. Gale finally breaks apart from her, and she falls limp in his embrace. The cannon sounds.

Overcome with grief and rage at the loss of his ally, Gale proceeds to run wildly through the wheat field, dodging the growing flames, yelling for his last enemy to come and face him. "I'M RIGHT HERE, THRESH! I'M READY!"

The camera can only pick up Gale; they are having just as much trouble finding Thresh. But he must still be alive out there, as I have not heard a second cannon.

At last, Gale stumbles upon a clue: Thresh's camp, which includes a smoldering patch of grass that probably contributed to the giant arson fire, and the District 11 backpack. All at once, Thresh appears out of the smoke itself, diving for Gale. The final two tributes tussle on the ground, occasionally rolling dangerously close to the flames. They are a surprisingly even match. I honestly thought it would have come down to Cato and Gale, or maybe them and Thresh in an epic three-way. But this is quite a Hunger Games finale in and of itself. When it looks like Thresh has Gale pinned and is closing in for the kill that will produce a Victor, Gale kicks out with his legs. The black boy goes flying off of him and into the stalks that are ablaze.

Screams. Horrible, hideous screams as Thresh burns alive, meeting his gruesome death.

BOOM.

The final cannon sounds, and Gale pushes himself to his feet, as Claudius Templesmith announces his victory: "May I present the winner of the 74th Annual Hunger Games: Gale Hawthorne of District 12!"

Despite having been taken out of the running long ago, the Career mentors still swear loudly at Twelve's accomplishment of a hat trick. I, meanwhile, slump back against my comrades and burst into tears. My other love is coming home alive.


	17. Chapter 17: Menage a Trois

**Chapter 17: Ménage a Trois**

I refrain from seeing Gale, even after he is pulled from the arena. Even though it might be pointless, I don't want to point to our relationship any more than I may already have. It would only put my best friend in danger.

Indeed, when Gale takes the stage at his final interview, only the Capitolites cheer him. The other mentors are glaring daggers at him, and us other District 12 Victors. It's like they think we cheated, which is preposterous. For cheating to occur, there would have to be rules. And these are the Hunger Games. Except for the pedestals warning at the start, there are no rules.

Gale sits through his interview almost sullenly. Thankfully, no one seems to notice the hunch to his body, the zero light behind his eyes, except for me. In all other aspects, he plays his part as a triumphant Victor well enough. All the same, I can see: he feels trapped. Trapped like a mouse. And he knows it. If Cray thought killing a rebel spirit physically was a good idea, the situation my hunting partner now finds himself in suits the Capitol's purposes even better. He may be alive, but his rebel spirit must still die. For he is now the Capitol's slave.

I only get to meet with Gale alone back in the penthouse; we leave on the train for home in the morning. Surprisingly, he requests Peeta's presence, and holds out a hand to my paramour.

"Mellark, I want you to know that you are a very lucky man, to have Katniss. If you are the one she wants, I won't get in the way of that." His offer is startling. Once upon a time, Gale would have beaten Peeta or any Merchant within an inch of his life if he touched me. I suppose, like Duke and Haymitch before him, the Games have changed Gale's opinion on Merchants. Madge changed him.

Clearing my throat, I raise my hand. Both young men look to me. "I have something to say. I'm in love with you. Both of you. And if you'll have me, I want to have both of you."

Gale and Peeta look to each other. A remarkable communication that I never thought possible, silent but clear, passes between them. Neither of them will go forward with what I have proposed without the other's approval.

Smiling, Gale takes me in his arms and kisses me deeply. Kissing him back, we stagger into my bedroom, Peeta strolling blandly behind us. Gale throws me on the bed and mounts me. I bite my lip, but smile my consent. Two people who really know and love each other should be able to express that love.

Before we can commence having sex, there is a knock at the door. Peeta motions for us not to move, indicating he will get it. He answers.

"Oh, hi, Duke... OW!" Something bounces against him, and I fear a punch has been thrown, before the door is angrily slammed in my first lover's face.

"Peeta, honey, what happened?"

Peeta turns back to us, struggling to get a grip on the box that is tumbling down the bridge of his nose. "The old bastard hit me with a box of condoms!"

All three of us burst out laughing.

* * *

Gale's reception is much more positive when we arrive home in District 12. He was considered a hero in the Seam, long before he won. My colleagues and I quickly ingratiate him into Village life. Six months later, I send Peeta with him on his Victory Tour. The former reports back to me that the people of the Districts were just as enthused to greet the new Victor. But unlike in Twelve, it was more than just mere jubilation. There was something... dangerous lurking behind their eyes. Something desperate.

Not long after Gale's return, Caesar Flickerman announces on TV that the 75th Hunger Games, or 3rd Quarter Quell, is coming up, and that its twist will be decreed soon. Even before the traditional Reading of the Card is aired, my allies and I come up with a plan. Now with a robust crop of Victors, it is high time that we split duties. Operations were claustrophobic enough last year, and we had four people. Having steered Gale through the Tour, Peeta will stay home. Duke will also stay behind; our captain needs a rest after having pulled off the Hunger Games Hat Trick. Gale and I will go to the Capitol to mentor our tributes, for Gale needs to learn the trade. Haymitch will supervise us there. Besides, given that he himself was the last Victor of a Quell, the media will be focusing on him more than usual.

The night of the card reading, my mother and sister and I host the men over at our house. I nestle myself in between Gale and Peeta. Duke is telling Prim stories, while Mother is serving refreshments. She offers some to Haymitch, who accepts, and then more to Duke.

"Oh no, Lillian, thank you; that was delicious."

The mandatory programming begins, and President Snow takes the podiums. He starts by reciting the past Quell twists.

"On the 25th anniversary, as a reminder to the Districts that it was their choice to initiate violence, each district was made to hold a special election in lieu of the Reaping, and vote on the tributes who would represent it."

I've never been alive for a Quarter Quell. But my mother has, as a young teenager when Haymitch won. And Duke has mentored through both.

So I ask the old man, "Duke? Who won that year?"

"District 8. Indigo Weaver. He was an orphan and common thief betrayed by his neighbors. He's... dead now. He was a good friend. Nice guy."

The President continues: "On the 50th anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen, the Districts were required to send twice as many tributes."

We all look to Haymitch, but the real surprise comes from my mother, who says, "I had a friend who went that year. Maysilee Donner. My parents gave me her songbird after. A canary."

We Victors look at each other, not revealing our knowledge of Maysilee. But I am surprised to learn that she and my mother were friends. The President is speaking again:

"On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the tributes will be Reaped from the existing pool of Victors."

Mother shrieks. Haymitch throws his liquor bottle at the TV. I am numb as my eyes fill with tears. I am going back into the arena, as the only female Victor from Twelve. I have to run! But Duke grabs my shoulder before I can. "Victors: my house. Now."

* * *

We all traipse to Duke's place, me walking slower than the others. I don't know what to make of the Quell twist. All I know is that our original plan has just been shot to hell. With two of us going back into the arena, it will have to be all hands on deck from the other three.

When I finally arrive in Duke's foyer, I find myself in the middle of an argument by the men. And they are arguing over who is going to accompany me back in.

"I'm old; I've lived my life. I'll go," Duke says.

"I survived the last Quell; I can get her close to the end! I'll go," Haymitch offers.

"Peeta can be on his best game mentoring. I'll go," Gale volunteers.

"Gale needs a chance to live. And also to learn mentoring. I'll go," says Peeta.

"We can't all go!" Haymitch growls.

"So we settle this like men," Duke finishes. He suddenly pulls out a deck of cards, and gestures for all the men to sit around his kitchen table. Curious, I join them. "Katniss, my dear, will you referee?"

I nod.

Duke explains the rules. Then he adds ones of his own: "Whoever loses has to go back in. If that person is Reaped, then that will be that. If not, the loser is honor-bound to volunteer for whoever is Reaped. Clear?"

The other men nod. The game begins. Apparently, it's one Duke played when he was a boy. It's a little hard to follow. Like Russian roulette without a gun. The gun won't come until later, in the form of the arena.

At one point the door knocks. I answer it. It is the Baker, Peeta's father, bearing gifts of bread and cheese buns.

"Put them by the counter, Dad," Peeta says.

"Come on, man, Deal!" Gale orders, placing a card in the pool.

Many hours later, all four men place down their hands of cards. They look at each other grimly, but say nothing. I cannot tell who wins and loses; like I said, the game is hard to follow.

I guess I will find out on Reaping Day.

* * *

The day of the Reaping dawns hot and sultry. The Peacekeepers collect us quickly and roughly, forcing us into line.

"Alright... alright!" Gale growls as he is placed last.

"Gale," Duke orders quietly. "We go swiftly and silently. And I swear to God, if even one person asks why we are doing this..."

No more fun and games, then. No more jokes. Time to grow up. We all take the stage, and the Mayor - subdued by the death of his daughter - gives the Dark Days spiel. Then he reads our names: "The Victor of the 13th Hunger Games: Duke Vedaldi! The Victor of the 50th Hunger Games, or Second Quarter Quell: Haymitch Abernathy! The Victor of the 72nd Hunger Games: Katniss Everdeen! The Victor of the 73rd Hunger Games: Peeta Mellark! The Victor of the 74th Hunger Games: Gale Hawthorne!"

Silence from our neighbors and family and friends. Effie takes the podium, her voice lacking its usual verve. "Welcome, welcome! We are honored to select tributes for the 75th anniversary, or Third Quarter Quell, of the Hunger Games. As always... ladies first!" She almost sadly swipes up the one piece of paper that everyone knows has my name on it. "The female tribute from District 12: Katniss Everdeen."

I let a single tear trace down my cheek. I look to the men. Who will join me in hell: a reformed druggee? An alcoholic? My baker paramour? Or my hunter lover?

"Wonderful! And now for the men." Effie plucks one of four slips.

"The male tribute from District 12..."


	18. Chapter 18: 75th Reaping

**Chapter 18: 75th Reaping**

"... Peeta Mellark!"

"I volunteer as tribute!" The voice is old, crotchety and with a distinct brogue to it. Duke now stands beside me, taking my one lover's place.

"Wonderful! The tributes from District 12: Katniss Everdeen... and Duke Vedaldi." Effie trills. I shake hands with my eldest mentor, and our whole entourage is hustled to the train immediately. We don't even get to say goodbye to our loved ones.

Dinner that night is a quiet affair. I wait for Haymitch or my boyfriends to begin their mentoring, but nothing happens. As the table is cleared and we prepare to watch some mandatory programming, I take Duke aside. I can't believe he lost the card game! The one he has played since he was a child. How could he lose?

A sudden thought strikes me... unless...

"You threw the card game, didn't you?"

Duke gives a guilty little nod.

"Why did you do it?"

"Because then Peeta would have definitely lost. He doesn't know Seam card games the way the rest of us do. That wouldn't have been fair to him and especially not to you."

"So you sacrificed yourself? Duke, you can't..." I am ashamed to finish the sentence, though the thought still hangs in the air like thick smoke: _You can't possibly win._

Duke shakes his head. "I have no intention of winning. I'm getting you out! I live long enough to ensure you can be Victor, and then I sacrifice myself."

My eyes fill with tears. "Duke..."

"Katniss, it's as I said before: I've lived my life. Look at me. I'm 78 years old. It's the way of all flesh, girl. We're born, we live a little while, then we die. It's my time. And I'm going to greet the arena like an old friend." He lays a hand on my shoulder. "Come on. Let's go watch the other Reapings."

In the history of the Hunger Games, there have been 74 Victors. 60 are still alive. For us, we have a crop even with Districts like 3 and 11, and even outclass the numbers of others like 6 and 8. But every District has managed to scrape up at least one male and one female Victor.

There are the brother-sister pair from District 1 who triumphed back-to-back when I was little. Brutus, a volunteer from 2 who must be a peer of Haymitch and apparently can't wait to get back in the arena. I think he mentored last year. Finnick is called for District 4, and his partner is another volunteer - an 80-something named Mags; she won even before Duke! Johanna Mason, the only female Victor from 7. The male from 8, Woof, looks to be around Duke's age, maybe a little younger. The male from 9 looks like a professional wrestler. Chaff, a man from 11 and one of Haymitch's particular friends, is also in.

Throughout the broadcast Reapings, Peeta has taken copious notes. Haymitch now begins his tutelage. Having won the last Quell, I am sure he has tons of tips about how they work. "I want you guys to forget everything you think you know about the Games. Last year and all the other years before that were child's play. This year, you're dealing with all experienced killers."

I look to Duke. Yes, we are dealing with experienced murderers. Even my own partner is one. Or was, once upon a time. Can I face _that_ Duke in the arena?

* * *

We are mobbed when we get off the train.

Duke leads the way, smiling confidently and even giving his fans a fist bump in the air. The man who led our district to the Hunger Games Hat Trick. Someone shoves a newspaper in his face. A poll taken by the citizenry predicting the Victor of the Quell shows District 12 amongst the favorites.

Haymitch, Peeta and Gale leave us tributes with our stylists. As the three men walk away towards the stable office, I hear the drunk announce, "OK, it's tea time, chaps..."

In the parade that evening, Duke and I make quite the splash, once more with fire accents. The flames seem to hang in the very air. As we make our way with our mentors towards the new Tribute Training Center, I am introduced to some of the other Victors I haven't met these previous two years. Chaff, for example, gives me a big wet kiss, then burst out laughing at my reaction. Johanna, joining us in the elevator, performs an elaborate strip-tease routine and blatantly flirts with Gale. It is with relief that we finally reach our beloved Floor 12, the penthouse.

* * *

Training begins the next morning. Duke and I are among the first competing Victors dropped off. Once Atala finishes her customary speech, Duke and I head over to the sword fighting station. We practice sparring, but it is taking a lot of effort for Duke to get warmed up. He winds very easily. At one point, he jumps back from my swipe, and it only barely misses him.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," he sighs. "I'm getting too old for this sort of thing."

I shrug and give him my best smile. "It's been 62 years, Duke. It's gonna take a little time."

I hear a deep double-bass laugh emanating from behind. Brutus, the Victor from 2, is striding towards us.

"You're too polite, little darling! Why don't you just admit he's gonna lose?"

I glower at him, particularly perturbed at how he calls me _'little darling.'_ And also by the way he's looking at me...

"The Games are full of surprises, Brutus," I say shortly.

He chortles again. "Not this year!" He strides about the center. "Would you look around, for God's sake!: We've got Victors drunk off their asses" He gestures to James Logan of District 5, who is in the process of throwing up all over the floor. "Or folks so old they don't even know where they are!" He bumps past Mags, who is fiddling with a fish hook, and knocks down old Woof, who is trying to stick poisonous bugs in his mouth, stopping in front of Duke.

Duke runs to help up Woof and take away the bugs, keeping his eyes on the bodybuilder Victor. "You better watch your step, Brutus. I was mentoring tributes before you were even conceived in the womb. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to criticize your elders? Why don't you pick on somebody your own size?"

"Like _you_ , old man?" Brutus laughs. And he strides away, leaving the other Victors glaring in his wake.

It continues like this over the next three days. At last, we have our private session with the Gamemakers. When the scores are broadcast that night, Duke and I make Hunger Games history: perfect scores of 12 for us both.

"Brutus must be quaking in his boots; he only got an 11!" I guffaw. But Haymitch is not smiling.

"No, he's just knowing he's going to target you. Go to bed. I can't stand to look at either of you."

* * *

The fourth and final day is spent in preparation for our interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Haymitch mentors me, like three years ago; apparently, he is not sure how productive I'll be if left alone with either Peeta or Gale. Peeta will mentor Duke, while Gale learns to work the phones.

That night, the interviews are held. There are some of the old throwbacks, like the Careers and Daniel Bernhardt of District 9, who are just here for another Games. But some other Victors, like Beetee Latier of District 3, Finnick, and Johanna, come out criticizing the Quell in their own subtle way. The rest, like James Logan and Mags and Woof, are so wasted by drug or drink or age that they sort of trudge through their moment in the spotlight.

By the time I'm called, the audience is wrecked. I'm a popular Victor, and the Capitolites are sad to see me go in a second time. Caesar regains control quickly.

"So, Katniss: who will you miss me most when you enter the arena?"

"Prim," I say. "I am so sad that I will never see her get married or become a mother."

"But if you win, you still could, right?" Caesar encourages.

"I hope so, Caesar."

The buzzer sounds to end my time. "Katniss Everdeen, Victor of the 72nd Hunger Games!" Caesar escorts me off.

Now, it is Duke's turn. As he takes the stage, the audience leaps to its feet and roars in approval.

"And now, the legend, the mastermind behind the Hunger Games Hat Trick, the first champion of his district: Duke Vedaldi, the Victor of the 13th Hunger Games!"

The audience stamps its feet and begins chanting: "VEDALDI! VEDALDI!"

"My, my, Duke, you look wonderful for someone... how old are you?"

Duke laughs. "78 years old and still kicking!"

"You have created quite a legacy these last few years. 3 Victors in a row!"

"Yes, we've gotten lucky with crops of strong tributes. Gale and Katniss are skilled hunters. And Peeta makes the best shortbread I've ever tasted!"

The audience eats it up.

"And I wouldn't have any regrets at all if... if it weren't..." Duke trails off.

"What? If it weren't for what?" Caesar presses.

"If it weren't for the babies Katniss is having by both Peeta and Gale!"

It takes all my efforts to keep my face neutral. Duke has made one last play to stop this madness. Or just lit the fuse on the bomb the other Victors have been building. He's turned me into a pregnant martyr. And I fear how the Gamemakers will punish him in the arena.

The Capitol audience is shrieking, calling for help that not even Caesar can give. As Duke rejoins me, the Victors suddenly join hands up and down the line. The Capitol tries to cut the feed too late. All of Panem has seen.

* * *

Peeta, Gale and I are sadly looking over the balcony down at the dazed and confused crowds far below.

"There's no way they'll cancel. They can't," I announce morosely.

Duke and Haymitch now join us, Effie waiting a few steps away.

"Baby bomb was a stroke of genius, old friend," Haymitch says. "Unfortunately, the Games are still on. This is goodbye, for now."

"Huddle up!" Duke orders us Victors. "I want you to know how proud I am of each and every one of you. I lost my real family years ago, so I am blessed to have created a new one in all of you. However this ends, I want you to live. Understand me?"

Peeta nods. "Thank you, Duke. For everything." He hugs the old man, who tousles his hair. Then, Duke hugs Gale. He turns to Haymitch last of all.

"37 years, I waited for you. For a winning tribute. You are my greatest triumph. I volunteered to save the boys, but I did it also to protect you. Goodbye, my apprentice."

I stare in amazement as Haymitch wipes a tear from his eye. "Goodbye... Master."

The druggee and drunk embrace. It occurs to me that Duke and Haymitch are more like father and son than I imagined.

I go to bed that night in Peeta and Gale's arms. But even with my lovers guarding me, the nightmares come.


	19. Chapter 19: It's a Jungle Out There

**Chapter 19: It's a Jungle Out There**

Do we sleep? I don't know. We hold each other in some halfway land between dreams and waking. Effie comes with the dawn, and I am summoned out of my room and up to the roof and the waiting hovercraft. Duke is there for me. After a while, Haymitch, Peeta and Gale join us.

"Any last advice, boys?" Duke asks.

"Stay alive," they chorus, but there is no joking, no mirth in the line. We all hug. Peeta and Gale each kiss me deeply and I kiss them back. I feel whole, glowing, after the lovemaking we made last night. I draw away from them painfully. Duke and I are forced onto the hovercraft, and off we go.

Arriving at the arena, we are hustled underground. Cinna dresses me in a meshy arena jumpsuit. "It could guard against water and other humidity," he theorizes. As the finishing touch, he fastens my mocking jay pin onto the fabric. "Remember, I'm still betting on you, Girl on Fire."

After I enter the pod, it seals around me, but it doesn't move. Cinna looks confused, until Peacekeepers suddenly swarm in and beat him to a pulp. I am pounding on the glass, screaming my head off, even more so as the pod begins to rise, carrying me into the arena.

I know why this has happened. Snow has already destroyed one of my friends to psych me out, and it only makes me fear for my lovers. And Haymitch. Effie. My family...

Sunlight blinds me, bouncing off my eyes and seemingly everything else. I feel something wet lap up onto my booths. Opening my eyes against the light, I realize it's water.

And it's all around me.

The pedestals have been set in some kind of miniature sea. An island is about ten yards ahead of me, and it holds the Cornucopia. From the island extends rocky spokes, which split the sea into watery wedges holding two tributes each. In my wedge is old Woof from District 8.

As the countdown begins, I scan for Duke, but I can't see him. I hope return to the arena has not traumatized him; except for Mags, he's been outside of it the longest.

When the gong goes off, I don't hesitate. I dive into the water and swim for the nearest spoke. Bursting onto the shore, I just beat Brutus there, and run down the spoke towards the horn. On a parallel spoke, I see Gloss, the man from District 1, sprinting for the supplies. I race him there, and only beat him after he trips on his own feet.

Only one other person has reached the Cornucopia once I grab my bow. It's Finnick. He grins at me wickedly, with a trident poised to strike. "Good thing we're allies, right?" Then, before I can answer: "Duck!"

I hit the rocks and hear the trident sail over my head, landing in a target. Turning back, I see the body of James Logan from District 5, and the first cannon of the Quell goes off. BOOM.

"Don't trust 1 and 2. I'll take this side; you hold them off! I'll go find the old man!" Before Finnick can run off, Blight Jordan from District 7 leaps on his back. Finnick simply slams him back into the horn to shake him loose, then promptly stabs him.

Readying my bow, I shoot Gloss in the chest, and his corpse sprawls into the water. I quickly kill his sister with an arrow to the temple. Finnick now rounds the horn.

"I found Duke! He's over here!" On the other side of the horn, I see my mentor in a watery wedge with Daniel Bernhardt of District 9. They are treading water and tussling. Duke is remarkably strong despite his age, keeping the much younger Bernhardt at bay.

I aim for Bernhardt's head as Finnick swims out to the pair. Once Finnick reaches them, it's all over. Together, he and Duke drown Daniel, before Finnick carries my District partner to shore.

As we regroup on our spoke, I see what's left of the Careers - Brutus and Enobaria - gathering around the supplies. And they're gesturing right at us!

"RUN!" I yell to my allies. I hand Duke a sword and we take off. As we flee, I notice Brutus staring my mentor down. _Vedaldi_...

Our trio takes off into the jungle. As we go along throughout the day, we hear more and more cannons. I try to keep count, but it's hard. As night falls, we stop to rest. The faces of the dead appear in the sky while we are making a small campfire.

Gloss and Cashmere. Wiress from 3. Mags from 4. Both from 5 and 6. Blight Jordan of 7. Both from 8, 9 and 10. Seeder from 11.

My mouth drops open. "Sixteen dead?! We're already at the Final 8?!" I've never seen a bloodbath roll that high. Never!

Duke nods. He looks dejected, probably over Mags and Woof's deaths. "That's normal for a Quell. 18 died in Indigo Weaver's Quell. Same in Haymitch's year. But the latter had twice as many tributes."

As we cook the tree rat I shot, I begin to wish we had something to wash it down with. But the water in the sea near the island is too salty. And I have not seen any fresh bodies of water yet.

Then, I hear the chimes of a parachute. A gift from a sponsor! Inside, we discover a thin tube tapered open at both ends. After a moment of study, I realize it is a spile to tap water from the jungle trees. We tap the trees and get cool, sweet water.

Finnick volunteers to take first watch. So Duke and I fall asleep for the first time in the arena. The first time in a while for both of us.


	20. Chapter 20: Fog and Blood and Spins

**Chapter 20: Fog and Blood and Spins**

I take watch after Finnick, peering into the night with my bow across my lap. Eight tributes left. My mother and Prim will surely be interviewed, like they were three years ago. Poor Duke won't have anyone to vouch for him. But perhaps the old man thinks it's better that way. He sure seems certain that he won't leave this arena alive.

All at once, I see a thick cloud of... something slinking towards me across the jungle hills. Fog. Maybe from the humidity that seems unnatural at this time of night. But when I reach out my hand -

Searing pain shoots up my palm and I nearly collapse. A Gamemaker trap! "RUN! The fog is poisoned!"

Finnick leaps awake, hoisting Duke over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. We outrun the fog as best we can, but not before it makes our muscles spastic and unresponsive to even basic commands. Once we reach an area where the fog does not follow us, we purge the milky substance from our bodies by submerging in a pond.

That's when we get attacked by the monkeys.

We are a blur of arrows and tridents and swords and orange fur. Seeing an opening, Duke and I sprint for the beach. Finnick stays behind, keeping the monkeys at bay. "Go, go!" he orders us. My mentor and I have just reached the shore and have seen the rising sun when we hear the cannon.

The Cornucopia island is strangely deserted. No sign of District 2. As the sun climbs higher into the sky, Duke and I see two blood-red figures further down the beach. They turn out to be Johanna and Beetee. We forge a tentative alliance with them and climb aboard the rocky island.

Beetee has a wire in hand, which he apparently took a knife in the back to get; Enobaria stabbed him. As he goes to clean it, my allies and I make a list in the sand of the observations we have made about the arena.

A sudden choking sound is all that saves us.

The Careers, and Chaff with them in an alliance, attack almost without warning. When Beetee is knifed in the throat, I promptly shoot Enobaria in retaliation. The wire goes flying into the water.

I dive to retrieve it as Brutus and Chaff charge, the former attacking Johanna, while the black man engages Duke. I swim with purposeful strokes, desperate to get the wire before the hovercraft retrieves Beetee's body. I only just manage to get it and swim back.

Pulling myself up on the rocks, I am sickened to see Brutus straddling Johanna, and humping her desperately. The sicko is raping her! Enraged, Johanna manages to get a grip on her axe before I can load an arrow, and she stabs Brutus right through the eye.

"GAHHH!"

Meanwhile, Duke ducks a swipe of Chaff's scythe and dances away from him to get to the other fight. Using his sword, he stabs Brutus through the skull, assisting in the killing blow.

Three cannons, for Beetee and District 2 sound late: BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

All at once, the rocks beginning faster than my feet can walk on them. I am knocked to the ground. Hanging onto whatever handholds and footholds I can find, I watch as anything that is not tied down goes flying, unable to guard against the centrifugal force of the Cornucopia island spinning faster and faster. Duke and Johanna hang on, but with a roar, Chaff is thrown clear. Then, the Gamemaker trap slams to a stop as quickly as it had started.

I am staggering to my feet, dizzy, when Duke dives into the ocean to retrieve Chaff. Since the start of the Games, my mentor has managed to take up swimming moderately well. My mentor pulls the black man out of the waves and to the rocks. But instead of resuming their fight, the two men shake hands. An alliance? This late in the Games? With only four tributes left?

That's when Johanna lunges for them.

Duke's back is to her, so she naturally goes for him, her former ally, first. But Chaff, seeing her axe, pushes Duke out of the way. Chaff takes it in the chest himself. Duke, meanwhile, is knocked down.

With both older men out of commission for the moment, Johanna goes for me as Chaff's cannon sounds. BOOM. I fire whatever arrows I can at her. I miss most of the time, but I hit her once. Yet she keeps coming. Just then, Duke tackles the young woman. The pair wrestle on the rocks. My mentor is strong, but his age is beginning to show. He is growing tired. Johanna soon gets on top of him and stabs my master with his own sword. Duke, in a last show of strength, sends Johanna's axe into her foot and throws her clear off him. She lands hard on the rocks, dazed long enough for me to go to my mentor.

Duke is gargling, fighting to hold on. He clasps my hand.

"Katniss... Katniss... Win... Promise me you'll live..." He then pulls something out of his arena jumpsuit. It looks like one of those old videotapes my mother used to watch with Prim and I when we were small. "Watch this with the others when you get out. Then you will understand. Goodbye, my girl. I love you." He expires.

BOOM.

Fury beyond comprehension overtakes me. I launch myself at Johanna just as she is struggling to reassert herself, and we grapple for her axe. I am taken back to three years ago, against Johanna's pupil in the caves.

And then as now, the axe yields to a master. And she isn't from District 7.

Getting the blade away, I promptly pin Johanna and behead her. The final cannon sounds and Claudius Templesmith announces my victory: "I give you, Katniss Everdeen of District 12, as the Victor of the 75th Hunger Games, or Third Quarter Quell!"


	21. Chapter 21: We Three Victors, Plus Haymi

**Chapter 21: We Three Victors, Plus Haymitch**

Once I am pulled from the arena, it is a flurry of activity. I am checked over by the doctors and then dressed for my interview with Caesar. My stylist is not Cinna, and I fear he may not have survived his beating.

At my final interview, Gale and Peeta rush the stage. Gale kisses me with tongue and feels me up in front of everyone. Peeta gallantly dips me and kisses me passionately. Then, I watch the marathon of my Games, culminating in my battle with Brutus, his with Johanna and Duke's with Chaff. Then, Duke's sacrifice and my final brawl with Johanna.

* * *

That night, Haymitch knocks on my door. Half-dressed, Peeta and Gale and I are spirited away through a confused city to a hovercraft. Effie accompanies us. Onboard, we meet Head Gamemaker Plutarch Heavensbee. He explains how District 13, destroyed in the Dark Days, still survives underground. The rebels there had decided that someone from District 12 should lead the rebellion against the Capitol. When the Quell was announced, the Victors going in were ordered to do whatever it took to ensure either Duke or I won.

"Johanna betrayed you because she wanted to lead the rebellion," Plutarch explains.

Arriving in Thirteen, I lead the Second Rebellion against Panem. The Capitol is taken, Snow is executed, the Hunger Games are abolished. A new democracy is created.

But in the process, I lose my sister. Peeta and Gale lose their families, in firebombings that rained down on our homeland at the end of the Quell.

* * *

Upon return to District 12, I marry my two loves in a small ceremony in the Meadow. Simple white dress for me, tuxedos for my two husbands. Haymitch serves as Best Man. Peeta and Gale each kiss me sensuously. To complete the ceremony, we toast a bit of bread and share it.

Afterwards, we recover Duke's body, and bury the old man in the Victors' Village. He led generations of tributes; finally, he is at peace. He died a hero.

His funeral reminds me of his District token, the old videotape he left me with in the arena. So, my husbands and Haymitch and I pop it in the TV, and lose ourselves in the 13th Annual Hunger Games. It is a tape that Haymitch has not even seen.

Duke, young and healthy and whole, kills. He runs. At one point, he rapes. The whole thing ends with him strapping a crude bomb to the final Career's chest and pushing him into an active volcano.

That is how a Seam boy became a legend.

* * *

I know the body of my husband Peeta and become pregnant. I give birth to our son. Then I know the body of my husband Gale and once more does a baby balloon in my womb. I give birth to a daughter.

They now play in the Meadow. As I rock Gale's little girl in my arms, and watch Peeta's son play with my husbands in the Meadow, I feel blessed to watch this game. To partake in this game called Life.

Because there are much worse Games to play.


End file.
